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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



y^ DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS. 



BY A. H. HICKERSON. 



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A Geminy of Vipers 



A DRAMA. 



In Four Acts. 



* 



A. H. HICKERSON. 












Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1894, by A. H. Hickerson, in the office of the 
Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 



TMP92-009173 



A GkEMINY OF VIPERS. 



By A. H. Hickerson. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Sebastian, father to Roderick. 
Humphrey, uncle to Theophilus. 
Roderick, an infiidel, in love with 

Eudora. 
Lubin, his friend. 
Theophilus, suitor to Eudora. 
Alphonso, servant to Roderick. 
Salmon, servant to Theophilus. 
Gershom, a hermit. 
Pike, ] 

Peak, I Gershom's imps. Other imps. 
Poke, J 

ACT I. 

SCENE I. Open court in front of Sebastian' 's 

/louse. 

Ente-- Sebastian, Lubin, Humphrey and 
Theophilus. 

Sebas. Crown'd be the billowy seas 
with caps of valorous strife ; 

Surged high midst the sprays of glitter- 
ing toil enfold; 

Seethed fathomless in eddying conten- 
tion by brainless antic; 

So my thoughts play their antics in mind 
troubled even at repose. 

Sun is there none to an age when sun- 
shine might dwell 

Like purity on sin, casting sin out as tor- 
tures from hell. 

Life is there none to a life whose advance 
points with pride 

Backward to one sunless morn as they 
lay side by side. 

My son of that morn bursting out from 
the clouds of the womb 

Made woman a mother, has sent man 
nigh to his tomb. 

Full-plenished, fair-clad, bright-visag'd, 
with ill-fitting smile, 

Grace I the greetings of dear friends; 
yet dare I the while 

Abate heart beneath it, clad cheerless in 
hope that doth kill 



Orestes, friend to Humphrey. 

Antonia, mother to Roderick. 
Eudora, a rich heiress. 
Adessa, her waiting maid. 

A Messenger. 

Guards, Attendants, etc. 

SCENE : Greece. 



Sweet happiness. Friends, bear with me 
pray, 'tis a son's froward will. 
Lut>. Your mind is uneasy in strife 
made conflicting, 

Because of a son's froward will, so de- 
picting 

Thine own. 

Factions have fellows else there were no 
strife, 

So you are a fellow to this one now rife. 
Hum. Yet just is the cause as strong 
the strife, 

As thou canst weigh it to its full, just 
weight, 

And find no diminish, no increment 
there; 

A father deep-pitted 'gainst a son once 
so fair, 

Now set in contention — a Tyro arose 

From a mightier source to greet many 
foes; 

And 'sconced in such power to scatter 
alarm, 

It reacheth the father to do him this 
harm: 

The father ensconced on the side which 
is right, 

Cannot strike nor defend 'gainst his son 
in the fight. 
Theo. Now friends, if ye be friends, or 
be not friends, 

So foes: pray now, appease me. Stand- 
ing here, 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act i. 



I am a hungered like a ravenous wolf, 
Catching at flying morsels aimed at him ; 
And so in snappish humor for a bit, 
Stand I myself for just one gracious grain 
Of information dropped 'twixt rambling 

bits 
Of thy mysterious talk still unappeased. 
Through snapping at the fragments of thy 

speech, 
I fear I make myself a well-worn fag, 
Though fag I well might be for aught my 

ears 
Do bring me. 
In short, my friends, thy meaningless 

words 
Speak to me a meaningless tale . 

Sebas. Now how a tale 

Can strike such havoc to my heart, elud- 
ing ears 
So long and pert as these of friend The- 

ophilus, 
Is past my comprehension. 

Lub. Why, that's it; 

They are too large by many cubits drawn 
To harbor, and contain, much less con- 
ceive 
A sound so shallow small, as thy vast 

story 
Doth reverberate. 

Hum. Or hath he not a feather in his 
ear, 
That pricketh him to senseless humor of 

a tale 
In its true real significance ? 

Theo. Thou mockest me with jest not 
justly got; 
Therefore, alas, not friends, but foes I've 
got. 
Lub. What ho! he hears, but hearing- 
would upbraid 
Us for a merry jest disposed on him 
In a light and passing humor for a joke, 
Bestowed in friendly recompense alone 
In payment to a pair of outward ears, 
And for it get receipt returned again 
In only swift reproach. 

Sebas. Come friends, I fear 

Our humor will forsake us to deny 
A friendship erstwhile deeply felt by all. 
So while away such purposed raillery 
On those for whom you harbor not, 
In sweet-toned entertainment, stanchion- 
love 
Whereon a friend does lie. 
'Tis not a thing well done in friendship's 

sphere, 

To prick a friendly heart by words severe, 

Languaged 'gainst words unwilling spoke. 

Lub. What hear! 

The grave Sebastian wisely speaks such 

fear; 



So wisely heed, our friendship not to 
sear. 
Theo. Well then, if thou'rt so decided, 
pray let me hear 
Thy story plain withal, despite my bung- 
ling ear. 
Sebas. Well, be it so. The story runs 
like this: 
I have a son as you my friends all know, 
As thou know'st, too, Theophilus, and 

tbat much 
To thy great sorrow, touching which 

mine ears 
Have served me better even than thine 

own, 
In that a tale purporting so to be 
Of this same good Theophilus reacheth 

them, 
By way of quaint vague catchings at odd 

times 
Of certain frivolous rumors now afloat, 
Which, now that they've had mention, 

might as well 
Be said again as left unpaid, swell not, 
To my crude way of thinking, in thy 

breast 
A bitterness one whit too sore or small, 
In any kind proportion or rude touch, 
Swaying it to a lighter or heavier make, 
To add or take away in present mood 
A humor so befitting but that thou 
Wert grievous sad as 'twere thy wont to 

be, 
In just effect of cause so justly great. 

Theo. If this be all thy story to be told, 
Pray quit its sad narration, for its humor 
More than scorcheth me to a living coal, 
Only to leave me in a shaking ague 
When 'tis done, and so, by turns, before 
I catch a breath to say which vast ex- 
treme 
I stand demented in, I'm now hot beast, 
Now ice-cold stone — dementing incon- 
gruity. 
Sebas. Why then, thou'rt truly as re- 
port doth make 
Of thee— 

A very mad, amphibian sort of fellow, 
Ready to singe thy neighbors by a look, 
Or freeze them by a touch. 

Theo. Allow me then 

To freeze thee from the ai dor thou art so 
Disposed to ever show in railling me, 
Heating thee by all entreating looks 
To immediate continuance of thy tale. 
Lub. Why hark ye now, Sebastian, my 
good friends, 
Theophilus turneth wit to goodly ends. 
Hum. And turning more a wit to good- 
ly ways, 
He merely speaks of touch and beaming 
gaze. 



Scene i.] 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



Lu/>. , And turns himself, a man of 

goodly sense 
To meet our own poor wit. 

Sebas. Why then, I'll recompense 

Such wit, as it should be rewarded, I 
Will finish now my tale. 

I'luo Say rather, thou 

Wilt put a tail to it; for as to thy finish- 
ing it, 
It were a better tail thus added than 
A tale not told. 

Sebas. Say as to my finishing it, it were 
A better tale thus told, than tail not 

added ; 
For I'll not add a tail to tale that still 
Remains no tale. 

Lub. Now ne'er did anything come in 

so well. 
For I bethink me, by a sudden coming in 
Of truant memory, that I have urgent 

business, 
Even at this hour, which, to meet well, 
In opportune arrival at my appointment, 
Entaileth now my quick departure hence. 
Sebastian, I'll not wait to hear thy tale, 
Since hearing it withal, 'twould be but 

that 
I've heard before in many-mouthed syl- 
lables. 
So then, adieu, until to-morrow;' 
I will see you then. 

Hum. How, now. It seems to be the 

order to be tailed ; 
Therefore, Lubin, if thou hast none, I'll be 
Thy tail, and follow thee behind, to make 
For thee a pretty wag, and stay with thee 
Till thou dost cut me off, that, when thou 

dost, 
I'll bleed sad tears, and wag no more a 

tail 
Of sweet submissive friendship at thy 

back, 
But offended will I die. 
Adieu, Sebastian! My dear nephew, dine 

with me at eight, 
Meanwhile hark thou to what Sebastian 

will relate. 
Sebas. Kind friends, adieu to both, 
I'll see you both upon the morrow, 
I trust in mood of better cheer. 

[Exeunt Lubin and Humphrey. 
Enter RODERICK. 
Rod. What now! was that my dear 

friend Lubin 
Methought I heard in parle with others 

wrought, 
Who has just now escaped before my very 

nose, 
Outwitting my endeavors to o'ertake him 

ere he leave ? 
Why 'tis his very shadow I do see retreat, 



As who could not detect a saintly form 
By saintish shadow sprawl'd upon the 

ground, 
A thing too humble much to stand erect, 
Proclaiming his own goodness; be it so, 
I'll call good Lubin back ; what Lubin, ho ! 
Lub. [From without] Who calls ? 
Rod [ Aside"] Now this were, in good 
point of truth, 
A pretty twain of wagging hypocrites, 
Standing to each with back to belly wag'd, 
As though the one were misadjusted tail 
Screw'd on the other for a certain use, 
But useless it hangs dead to its true func- 
tion. 
Well, so these christian braggarts are 

begot, 
Like strings of useless, ever-dragging 

tails, 
And so all tails, no heads. 
[To Lubin] Thy true friend, Roderick, 

calls for thy return. 
Canst thou not come ? 

Lub. [From -without] Believe me, Rod- 
erick, 
It doth grieve me more to leave thee 
'Gainst thy express'd desire to stay, 
Than I expect to find relief from 
In the purpose of my stray; 
Or forget the pangs of merely 
By my doings whilst away. 
Thy love will be just supporter 
To mine own the livelong day, 
And the love I bear thee, Roderick, 
Is a love that comes to stay. 
Therefore though I now must leave thee 
Grace my absence as you may, 
Loving as I love, dear Roderick, 
Grace it thus, of thee I pray. 

Rod. Were he not christian, I could 
love him more, 
Yet being christian, I cannot love him 

less. 
Thus 'tis a strange fantastic wooing of 
The mind to heart, and of the heart to 

mind, 
Sets strife afloat most bitter in rebellious- 
ness 
To adversary parts of love and hate, 
Plung'd deep in one poor soul to make 

him miserable — 
What news with thee, my father? 

Sebas. None withal, save that which 
grieveth me ; 
Though this were news not new, I know, 

to thee; 
For the which thou hast to thank the 

prattle 
Of a father's grief-lash'd tongue. 

Rod. [Aside] Can the heart of any 
parent be pierced to greater agony than 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act i. 



this inflicted by a parent's censorious 
tongue made so with grief ? 
Theophilus, dost thou fare well ? 

Tltco. As fairly well as might be, save 

for a surfeit 
Of bad dreams by night, and worse 

thoughts through the day. 
Rod Perchance such state comes as 

effect from a foul liver, 
And thou hast over-bile contained in thee, 
Which wants a purge or so to counteract 
Its vile influence o'er thy other parts. 
Were I a doctor of old brittle bones, 
I'd fix thee such prescription right and 

good, 
As would soon teach to thee the meaning 

true 
Of good sound health, and make thee 

swift forget 
The meaning of foul parts. 
But being only of the common kind, 
I only can commend thee to thy God. 
1 heo. Thou speak'st as though thou 

mock'st His sacred name, 
Which ill-becomes a man in any state, 
Much more in thine whose altitude, like 

that 
Of mighty Everett, pinnacles on high 
Thy lesser neighbor's crests. 

&bas. [Aside] Why, hark to them! I'll 

let them at it now, 
And thus Theophilus soon my tale will 

know. 
Rod. Now thou'rt a wily wag with 

wagging tongue. 
'Tis from this great advantage I do speak, 
The vantage-ground of high indifferent 

rank, 
Whose summit shrouds me from rude 

scrutiny, 
Whilst I, secure, look down on other's 

faults. 
Theo. Would'st thou be a God ? 
Rod. Nay; nor would I have a God. 
Theo. What, an infidel! Why man, 
thou art usurper of the very breath thou 
drawest, and cannot call it thine, but for 
the sanction of a God. 

Rod. Now he that hath a question in 

his mind 
That I can blow a breath in lusty gale 
As strong as any christian ever dare, 
Whv bring him forth, my good Theophi- 
lus; 
And if he do out-blow me in the test, 
Straightway I'll turn christian. 

Theo. It is true, 

I know thou art a blower of strong words, 
So long as they be aimed at credulous 

ears, 
But there's a power unseen yet not un- 
seen, 



Unfelt though felt, unheard of; nay, but 
heard 

By every listening ear that hath a soul 

At welfare, which, like iEolus in his cave, 

Thou wilt some day have chance to blow 
against 

In strumpet blasts of shattering con- 
demnation, 

Until thy very liver turneth pale 

From hollow torment, and thy tongue 
hang out, 

Distorted, swollen, black, but for the ap- 
plication 

Of one poor drop to comfort thee. 
Rod. Well, teach me how to be a chris- 
tian. 

I stand as docile as a child at lesson, 

Ready to be taught. 

Theo. As docile as a wolf; 

I would as lief teach docile wolf as ferine 
child. 
Rod. Is tbis thy hard belief ? 

I had it in my mind a christian had a part, 

Each part to be performed, not as a duty 
picked, 

Or willed so suiting the performer; but 
rather, 

In submission through a love thou call'st 
divine, 

Which purports to descend from one — 
called God. 
I heo. Thou'rt l'ight; thou quotest our 
belief as though 

Thou wert even one of us, and used this 
means 

Of playful prodigality to guage thy 
friends 

To a higher, juster level of appreciation 

Of thy worth, whose quality, truly spoke, 

Doth well deserve it. 

Rod. (), christian flatterer! 

What vein of christian charity contrives 

To grant thee leave to flatter one like me, 

Whose atheism flings back scorn to thee. 

But then if I have said your creed aright, 

Thou art thyself, in turn, in greater 
wrong, 

So cease in this behalf thy joys to gratu- 
late. 

I may be many things but when I'm 
prodigal, 

My prodigality will go waste in some 
other direction. 

I'll be stone dead before I'll be a hypo- 
crite, 

Who, with his sick'ning, simulating ways, 

Love-beaming face, sweet-smiling lips 
and eyes, 

And blackest devil's heart in deep dis- 
guise, 

Makes wise men fools and fools most 
wondrous wise; 



Scene i.] 



A GJEMINY OF VI PEA'S. 



Harsh mimicry to instincts of a soul 
Whose ever present thought is set in 

truth ; 
Sweet joy to him who smirks with Janus- 
face 
To guage the deed to a devil's winning 

grace. 
No, no: of all mean things on earth to 

me, 
The meanest of them all I'll never be: 
I'll never be a hypocrite. 

Theo. But this thou wilt, 

Thou may'st be many things from out 

the which 
Allow me make fair choice just what 

thou art. 
If thou'rt not hypocrite, of other things 
That may be worse, or may be not so bad, 
Thou art that which makes thy friends 

truly sad; 
Thou art an unbeliever. 

Rod. Oh, my poor friends! 

Now you have cut me deep with the un- 

sheath'd dagger 
Of remorse, struck ruthlessly in my con- 
science, 
Rankling there a bitterer reproach. Oh, 

hated war 
Of troubled ragings, wrest from soft- 

suag'd love 
A love for me that I may, cradled low, 
Fall fast in beauteous sleep on cupid's 

arms, 
To dream of my poor friends so loving 
me. 
Theo. There is a way to gain their kind 
est love 
If thou see'st fit to take it. 
Rod. Name the way. 

Theo. By giving up thy ways. 
Rod. Why, then will I 

Be friendless evermore. Give up my ways 
To tread a darker course ? 

Theo. A lighter course. 

Thou art thyself engulf 'd in darkest night, 
And groping on do stumble in sad plight. 
Rod. Well, thou with kindness kindly 
aimed at me, 
Hast lighted me beyond obscurity. 
I need not fear if harmful pitfalls lay 
In lurking ambush dangerous to my way, 
Since by the candle of thy kind advice 
My path's illumined though I have no 

eyes 

To see my course. I'd have it otherwise. 

Theo. You turn a grave theme to a jest. 

Rod. With joy I would now thee infest. 

Theo. To counteract thine own sad 

breast ? 
Rod. No; give thee joy, 'tis my behest. 
Theo. To give thee joy is my request. 



Rod. And make thy heart quite sore 

disteess'd? 
Theo. Ay! that thine own will ne'er be 

blest. 
Rod. So thou canst meet a jest with 

jest. 
Theo. And meeting it give you the best. 
Rod. And greeting it give you no rest. 
Theo. I'll have the last word. I'm 

your guest. 
Rod. So like a bird you're in my nest. 
Theo. And like a bird I'd be caress'd. 
Rod. Such boyish actions I detest. 
Theo. Yet thou would'st fain grace thy 
conquest 
With gentle touch on lady's breast. 
And so I do outjest you. 

Rod. And no you turn a passing jest 
In graver mood* to one thus less'd 
Of lighter tenor framed. 
So now I do outwit you. 

Theo. Well, but this is jest, not wit. 
Rod. But what is wit but jest unwrit ? 
Theo A jest is rude, a wit is keen. 
Thy ways are rude; this I have seen. 
Rod. I pray thee now, what dost thou 

mean? 
Theo. I mean thy life is built upon a 
jest, 
In jest thou liv'st ;is in a grewsome jest 
Thou wilt soon die to dwell in warmer 

clime: 
But I'll tell you of this another time. 
Rod. Would'st leave me in such dire 

connection ? 
Theo. It were better thus to leave thee, 
Than in a fat and rolling condition 
Of contentment, too pleased with thine 

own self 
To give unto thyself a thought save that 
Born of contentment. Adieu, Sebastian, 
Fare you well. I leave thee now with 

thy son. 
God be with thee and him. 
I now know thy sad story and I pity thee, 
As I reproach thy son. 

Sebas. Fare you well, Theophilus. I am 
a good mark for the aim of thy commis- 
eration, as my son is for thy scorn. 

[ Exit Tlienphilns. 
Rod. Now this were one full funny 
freak 
Turned out of door as though to seek 
Another f 3llow like him. 
But outwitted in the search 
Turns back disgusted with the world, 
Left sadly in the lurch. 
Sebas. Come Roderick, thou dost see 
how thy friends 
Take thy perversed moods. I pray of 
thee 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act i. 



Turn swift away from these, a christian 

be 
With them, with me, and with thy dear 

mother 
Who so loves thee without a like return. 
Thou art to us, to all, as thou stand'st 

here, 
Though a beloved son and well-liked 

friend, 
A thing too loathsome far for us to touch 
In cherishing caress; though beauteous 

in 
Thy moulded form and haughty height, 

as if 
It were the grace of Baldur that crowned 

thee o'er, 
A thing far too disgustful for our eyes 
To dwell upon in feast of that repast 
Thy father and thy mother hunger for. 

Roderick! feast thou thus two fam- 

ished souls 
Upon the crumbs of thine enforced re- 

generacy. 
Quench their mad thirst with gushing 

waters, 
Fountained from the wells of thy new 

happiness. 
Let thy new life give them new life; 
Thy peace them peace, thy love them 

love, 
Thy heavenly hope them hope of life 

eternal. 
Rod. And if there be a devil let him 

have his way, 
Or be a God let Him come into stay ? 
No! no! my own sweet master I prefer 

to be, 

1 ask no living man to be a slave to me, 
Nor will I be a slave to any man. 

Sebas. As thou thyself art greater than 

a toad, 
So stands thy God to thee. Thou art a 

God 
To a poor toad, as it, itself, is nothing but 

a toad to thee. 
Thus God is quite as good a God to thee 

as thou art 
To the toad; and as the toad is loathsome 

to thy siyht, 
So thou art loathsome to the sight of God. 
This is the law of all mankind, as 'tis the 

law of God. 
So as a lord to a poor toad, 
Thou art a slave to God. 

Rod. I may be slave bound in which 

chains 
I am thus held in love; but I am not a 

slave 
To God or man. 

Sebas. Which makes thee more a slave 
To sweet Eudora; for were it otherwise, 

and thou 



Didst look to God for thy deliverance, 

Eudora so 
Would look to thee for her support, and 

be thy slave 
Rather than to have you hers, with she 

your master, 
You without a God. 

Rod. Dear heart! methinks she would 
Be God enough for me, by whose sweet 

medium, 
Godless as I am, thy heaven in crude 

imagery, 
Must needs be mine here on thy dismal 

earth. 
I were content with such a heaven as 

this. 
Sebas. Ay! truly would'st thou be, as 

who should not. 
There is a heaven in pure Eudora's eyes 
That shines in lustrous azure as from the 

skies; 
There is a heaven in dear Eudora's smile 
That gives good cheer to comrades all 

the while ; 
There is a heaven in all Eudora's ways 
That sets my heart with warm love now 

ablaze; 
There is a heaven in good Eudora's soul 
That buoys her high above my poor ex- 
tol; 
The grace of heaven enshrines her noble 

heart 
With richer grace that ne'er can from 

her part. 
Indeed, when thou dost win this hi aven- 

ly sun, 
Thou wilt be blest — but not till thou hast 

won. 
Rod. Would'st thou so taunt me with a 

hampering fear 
That I cannot win my Eudora dear ? 
Why man, as I do speak I feel it now, 
Valhalla's crown cloistering my brow. 
What, thou hast so inflamed me with thy 

prate, 
This minute I'll to her and learn mv fate! 

[Exit. 
Sebas. Now I'll lay wager he does soon 

come back 
Like some poor hind awearied from the 

rack. 
But I must haste to sweet Eudora's side, 
xlpprisins: her ere he does me outstride. 

[Exit, 

SCENE II — Room in Eudora's house. 

Enter Eudora and Adessa. 

ides. How pale you look, sweet lady, 
Are you sick to-day ? Your looks pro- 
claim it. 
End. Do they ? Then, Adessa, they do 



Scene ti.] 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



Practice on deceit in so proclaiming it. 

I am not sick; that is, my body's not. 
Ades. Yet still, I know you're sick, 

Else why this pallid hue on cheek and 
neck, 

More pallid than this shedding light could 
fleck; 

Or these sad drooping eye-lids, tearless, 
dry, 

Bespeaking anxious mind and restless 
eye? 
Eud. This pallor soft is fleck of twi- 
light dim, 

As it falls gently from far heaven to 
earth, 

Spreading a softness o'er harsh, vulgar 
men, 

To soon conceal their deeds from better 
men. 
Ades. A pretty answer; but these 

drooping eyes ? 
Eud. Did'st thou, Adessa, e'er note in 
the skies 

A certain drooping, languid gleam of 
light, 

Like soft, sad waves, that is best viewed 
at night, 

Which seems to creep into our lonely 
hearts, 

As we affrighted gaze transfixed? It 
starts 

Our very beings. So mine eyes do yearn 

And wax quite pensive to thy sure con- 
cern. 
Ades. A prettier answer yet; but why 
should eyes 

So yearn that have no cause to yearn ? 
End. Oh! wise 

And mighty arbiter, must I confess 

Before my judge, without chance to re- 
dress 

A grievance, that, pinned to the wall, 
leaves me 

But one alternative ? 

Enter SALMON/ra« behind, unnoticed. 

Ades. Oh! now I see, 

As I knew you were sick, and know it 

still, 
I know the nature of your malady. 
Sweet mistress, you're in love. 

Eud. Oh fie! but stay, 

If not in love, I am in worser plight. 
I am between two loves. 

Ades. Between two loves! 

And love such fiery stuff; oh, my poor 

heart; 
Dear madam, you'll be burned. 

Eud. I know it would 

Be cooler did I stand between two fires, 
Since men in love — 

Sal. Are such conceitful liars. 



Save your grace, fair lady, but I'm just 

come 
From one of these same makers of a lie, 
To herald him to you, to live or die. 
Ades. Would you so rude stalk unan- 

noune'd, uncall'd 
Into the private presence of a lady, 
Like one who knows not manners, what 

they are, 
But churlish, awkward, rush in at an 

hour, 
Untimely and inopportune to her, 
As though thou would'st with greedy 

jaws devour 
Two such sweet morsels as my lady and 

me? 
What would'stthou, man ? Thou'lt ne'er 

get hold of me, 
Nor this sweet lady thou dost see by me. 
Sal. If I had thee, I'd sell thee for a 

goat, 
Then take the money and cast it in a 

moat. 
If I had that fair lady I would keep 
Her safe from harm as a shepherd does 

his sheep. 
End. How now, Adessa, this knave 

hath a wit, 
And knows which way to aim it so to hit 
The rightful target with its wonted 

charge ; 
He wounded thee to death, me not so 

large. 
Sal. Fair lady, I meant not to wound 

thy smell, 
Thy taste, thy touch, thine ear, thy 

sight, thy face; 
But rather meant I simply to foretell 
The coming of my master with good 

grace. 
Eud. Who is thy master, man, and who 

art thou ? 
Sal. His name, fair lady, is in name 

plain 'The', 
With 'Op' to follow in a 'Hi' old muss, 
Then comes low 'lust' in all without the 

'T'; 
In short, my lady, his name's The-oph-i- 

lus. 
I am his servant, Salmon; Salmon at 

your service. 
Eud. What! that of christian blood? 

Is he 
Thy master ? 
_ Sal. If he have blood, why yes, I've 

never 
Seen him bleed, but he was bred a chris- 
tian: 
This I've seen. 

Eud. 'Tis he; go bid thy master in; 

yet stay! 



LO 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act i. 



Stay yet awhile; soft man, I had forgot; 
'Tis strange I had forgot that on this day 
I plighted answer to this same begot, 
And through sheer sympathy for his 

christian faith, 
Half-promised him — 

Ades. Hush ! lady, say it not, 

If you cannot say it with better cheer. 
In your affairs of love, let your heart 

speak, 
If it do not, 'tis perjury you do swear, 
Eud. I know, I know, and I must 
swiftly choose 
Between two loves; no, three; nay! nay! 

'tis four. 
Four loves to choose from, and if I should 

lose 
But one of them, that one which I adore, 
I lose my life, and all that it contain. 
Now heaven, prepare me that my 
strength remain! 

Enter THEOPHILUS. 
Thou'rt welcome, good Theophilus, 
what's thy news ? 
T'heo. My news is something sadly 
sweet to me, 
As sweetly sad I fain 'twould be to thee, 
Coming from a sadly sweet newsmonger. 
End. Thou'rt sweet as one compared 
with whom thou'rt younger; 
Thou'rt sad I know not why. 

Theo. Then say I'm sad 

Because I'm sweet; and sweet because 

thy sweetness 
Sweetens me. 

Eud. 'Twere better then that thou 
wert not so sweet, 
If sweetness render thee in mood so sad; 
For those things sweet which are so 

droomy sad 
Digest not well, but lie like heavy sponge 
Upon the organs of the stomach, breed- 
ing certain 
Melancholy to a brooding soul. 

Theo. Doth my sweet 

Sadness breed to thee, my soul, such 
Melancholy to thy soul, that thou dost 

brood 
When I am near to thee ? 

End. No more when thou 

Art near than when thou art away. 
My sadness comes from elsewhere rather 

than 
From thee, thy absence, or thy presence. 
Theo. Tnou art 

Grown cold, Eudora, why this mark'd 

and strange 
Indifference ? 

Etid. Heaven marketh strangeness in 
the air, 
Oppressing stillness filling us with dread, 



Which heralds to our sense the brewing 

storm. 
Oh! seek swift refuge from this coming 

storm, 
Even while this precedent of dead calm 
Doth warn thee. 

Iheo. O God! what is this I hear? 

What calm is this that presages a storm? 
What storm to follow that the calm por- 
tends ? 
What sad destruction is to be the end ? 
What miseries to harrow me: extend 
My griefs ? Dear lady, pray do not sus- 
pend 
My griefs, my joys, my all upon the 

thread 
Of thy provoking hesitancy ; speak, I'll 
know thy will. 
Eud. [Aside] 'Tis thus I'm forced to 
say to him, 
What I would fain not say. Why do I 

wait? 
This coldness hath not answered him; I 

would 
That love were not so ardent hot, but 

that, 
To meet a current of cold words that go 
In issue from the arctic-frozen region 
Of a heart, it might be cooled of its hot 
ardor. 
'Iheo. Speak, lady, give me cheer or 

death. 
Eud. [Aside] I cannot give him cheer: 
I must not give him death; yet what 

have I 
To give him but a cheerless death ? But 

come, 
I may as well be brief and have it o'er, 
That, like a wound inflicted in a trice, 
Its flow half-stanched, half-healed, for- 
got, before 
Its pain is felt, I may annul some pain, 
By practicing quick brevity myself. 
Therefore, I'll brave myself to speak. 
Iheo. Thou torturest me, fair lady, 
with thy art 
Of long postponement. Pray speed me 

life or death. 
If life, why quick; if death, why quicker 

still, 
That all my joys may die a single death, 
And not a slow one. 

Eud. Well, I will pleasure thee: 
And since thy mission is a quest of love, 
I'll base my answer on the theme of love. 
We all do stand upon our own defense, 
Defending what is right and what is just, 
Protecting those about us who are weak, 
Defying those about us who are strong. 
There is a pleasure in this justful strife 
That warms us ever to a grander fight, 



Scene ii.] 



A G EMI NY OF VIPERS. 



11 



And though crowns victory proudly on 

our brows, 
Saves him defeated from unjust indigni- 
ties. 
So let me speak to thee and let thine ears 
Ope gently to my speech to kill thy fears. 
ludo. I fear my fears will kill me: 

pray thee speak. 
Eud. Well, if they do let me with pity 

meek 
Guage thy sad death by sadness of mine 

own; 
For dying I die too, not through love's 

zone, 
That binds us with a tie that comes from 

'bove, 
To soothe us to more willing thoughts of 

love, 
But rather through warm sympathy. 

Dear friend, 
Know that I love thee to this self- same 

end, 
And loving thee, thyself would I impel 
Far from the baneful brink of earthly 

hell, 
That dying thou wilt die not cruel death, 
But living thou may'st live, thy indrawn 

breath 
Sustaining thee through all thy pilgrim- 
age, 
And all thy strifes in which thou may'st 

engage. 
I love thy noble heart, sweet-tempered 

will, 
Thy christian truths, thy pride that doth 

instill 
Within thy breast an innate honor deep, 
Which doth from lewd intent thee ever 

keep. 
Does this suffice ? 

Theo. Is this all to be known ? 

I starve for life, and must yet gnaw a 

bone. 
Eud. Some say the sweetest, most de- 
licious meat 
Clings closest to the bone. 

1 heo. Am I to eat 

What I have seen a cur disdain to touch ? 
And this from thee: nay, heaven, this is 

too much! 
Eud. In wounding thee I wound myself 

and thee; 
Look thou as thou dost feel, look thou to 

me; 
Upon my saddened eye, my trembling 

hand, 
Then if thou canst, thou may'st me repri- 
mand. 
Theo. Love cannot blame. 
Eud. Why then, love should forgive, 
And crown defeat with resignation. 

Live 



Thou to this end, and living thus thou 
wilt 

Outlive thy present passing passion. 
Tkeo. Such hopes built 

On such unstable ground are like unto 

Light feathers in the air that spin and 
spew 

The devil's dancer's jigs in merriment; 

'Tis false, delusive hope; my joys are 
rent. 
Eud. Believe me sir, I am myself be- 
reft 

In so disposing of thy honorable love. 

Had I the power I would, with advance 
deft, 

Speed thee thy joy as swift as any dove. 
lh,o. I believe"thee, lady, and believ- 
ing thee, 

Will leave thee, lady, yet still loving 
thee; 

For I will always love thee, leave thee I. 

Or be with thee, what it be, till I die. 
Eud. I fain would have thee know 
why thou wert not 

Successful in thy suit, as 'tis my lot 

To so advise thee now before thou goest 

Perchance forever from my sight. Thou 
know'st 

That this may be; and being so I'd have 

Thee think of me with gentle thoughts. 

As I have said, I love thee for thy traits, 

And brood the folly that ordained the 
fates 

Requiting not so worthy an affection. 

But love is love and if it be true love 

Comes from that higher source we know 
naught of, 

We have no small control o'er its descent; 

It falls upon us shrewdly, swiftly bent. 

In sudden, silent mystery it does come, 

Whence no one knows but that perchance 
from some 

Sweet tided land. Oh, Love! Thou who 
art wrought 

From sequestration like a happy thought, 

Bursting forth from thy oblivion's seat 

To joyous revelation calm and sweet, 

Oh, Love! thou art a great and mighty 
king; 

Come crown thy queen and to her com- 
fort bring. 

This is the love that, loving, I must feel 

Before I can requite. 

Theo. To thee I kneel 

And do thee reverence ; thou art a queen 

Deserving of, uncrowned by, love serene; 

That though uncrowned, still being 
worthy of, 

Thou wilt be crowned as thou dost merit 
love. 
Eud. I thank thee sir; now rise and 
go thou hence; 



L2 



A G EMI NY OF VIPERS. 



[Act i. 



Sweet thoughts to thee: let this be my 
defense. 
Theo. Thou teachest me the lesson 
how to love, 
As thou hast taught me how to stiHe love 
Met by thy unrequital. Fare you well; 
I'll now depart to loveless parts of hell. 
[Exeunt Theophilus and Salmon. 
Eud. How sad he was; thank heaven 
it is achieved, 
Though my poor heart like his, is all 

bereaved. 
Adessa! 

Ades. Yes, my lady. 
Eud. Where hast thou been, Adessa? 
I had quite forgot poor thee, and that 

poor Salmon, too. 
How fared thee with thy sponge ? 
And did he thy heart plunge 
To weeping miseries ? 

Ades. I was the sponge; and he the 
wringer, 
For he did wiing my hand past my en- 
durance, 
Till now I am as dry as the dryest sponge. 
That man is the fag-end of a fool. 

Eud. It seems that he hath fooled 
with thee, 
Leaving thee the fag-end of his foolish- 
ness. 
But didst thou note, Adessa, my mis- 
guided fewd 
With good Theophilus ? 
Ades. I did, my lady, and I did pity thee 

and him. 
Eud. Did pity him because he is so 
good, 
And me because I cannot wield his good- 
ness 
Its reward. I would that I could love 

him 
As I should, Adessa; for he is worthy 
Woman's purest love. 

Ades, And being worthy, meets with 
disappointment. 
That conjurer we call love, and think 'tis 

sweet, 
Doth conjure many a trusting, credulous 

heart 
To worlds of bitterness. 

Eud. Then mocks his grief; 

But there, Adessa, this is sad for me 
To dwell upon, since I, with this same 

sceptre 
Of injustice, rule the miserable fate of 

one, 
Ay! one whom I esteem as well as I 

esteem myself, 
To evil destinies. There, come, I'd have 

a little air. 
The thought of it expugns me here with 
guilt, 



As though, though gone, his spirit still 

remain 
To haras-* me. But hark! a foot falls. 
Ades. 'Tis thy good friend Sebastian 

comes in haste, 
A.nd he doth carry with him marks of 

great disturbance, 
Like as if some wild- eyed devil had him 

in pursuit, 
And he did strive most eagerly to out- 
distance him. 
Eud. Doth he look drunk ? 
Ades. If to look drunk, is to act wild, 

why yes, 
He hath a 'drunken look. But here he 

comes. 

Enter SEBASTIAN, excitedly. 

Sebas. Pardon, dear lady Eudora, my 
hazai"dous 

And undue intrusion into thy sacred sol- 
itudes, 

I know he who is guilty of an impropri- 
ety > 

So unbecoming as this deed, must needs 
explain 

His curt unceremonious behavior to her 
offended, 

Else why should he be pardoned ? 

Eud. Thou art welcome, 

Lord Sebastian, to my house, and to my 
privacy. 

But how is this? Thou seem'st so 
wrought about? 

What evil tide has so o'erwhelmed thee 
now, 

That thy old wonted calm desertest 
thee? 
Sebas. Why, I have had a hot and 
mighty race, 

And breathless, all agore with copious 
drops 

In fever-heat, close-press'd, urged swift- 
ly on, 

My sinews strained and pitched to their 
highest tension, 

Guaging a natural stride to an over- 
reach 

That Avell-nigh tore my two limbs wide 
apart, 

As eagerness o'er-topped anxiousness in 
my mind, 

Presenting their crazy conditions fore 
and bind 

Attrite in hideousness, coursed through 
a fitful vein ; 

So in such hot-haste speed have I ar- 
rived, 

Out-striving him whom I've at last out- 
strived. 
Eud. Pray make thy speech more 
plain ; thou art too much 



Scene ii] 



A EMI NY OF VIPERS. 



L3 



For me: else I am much too dumb for 

thee. 
With whom or what hast thou vied such 
endeavors ? 
Sebas. With one, dear lady, who from 

thee ne'er severs. 
Eud. Who from me ne'er severs, why 
my lord, 
Thou hast not run a race with me ; how 
then ? 
Sebas. Not with thee, but thine. 
Eud. Not me, but mine! 
Sebas. Ay! thine, dear lady, thine; 
thine own 
On wings of love. 

Eud. Thou sinkest deeper in mysteri- 
ous talk 
As thou continuest. Canst thou not en- 
lighten me, my lord? 
Thy mystery breeds my interest; then 

let mine, 
A child begot, by thine, a father got, 
Know more of its strange parent. 
Pray enlighten me. 

Sebas. Thou art enlightened; I can see 
thou art, 
Thou canst not screen from me what's in 

thy heart; 
Thy face was never made to play deceit 
Upon a father's wits. Pray be discreet. 
Eud. I am discreet, but I am no deceit. 
Sebas. Then thou art not a woman ; 
For where's that woman framed of prop- 
er stuff, 
Boasts not of gross deceit? 

Eud. Thou art not only in part wrong, 
But two parts wrong. 
How can a face that cannot play deceit, 
O'er-top a body substanced from deceit? 
Sebas. Like uveous fruit depending 
from its vine, 
Whose pungent parts lie hidden 'neath 

its rind; 
For edge thy teeth on its soft round out- 
side, 
And thou dost find deceit on its inside. 
Eud. Ay! there it is, but not upon its 

face. 
Sebas. So woman's lies though it show 

not on face. 
Eud. Put woman through what that 
poor grape goes through, 
And lo! perforce her all of good and bad, 
Sweet traits, stanch truths, and dark 

ana evil thoughts, 
Long pent-up virtues, low discouraged 

lusts, 
Will spring from her freed from their 

dark confines, 
At the first cracked embrasure rendered 

sure, 
Apertured by the test of hard ordeal, 



To sudden light as sudden to discovery. 

I would that thou conceive of some such 
test 

To bring out my deceit and all the rest, 

And though thou finds't in all an hund- 
red faults, 

For every grain of rare deceit thou 
finds't, 

I'll give to thee an hundred pounds in 
gold, 

Then give thee back that purchased for 
thy use, 

That being all thou hast I'll envy thee, 

That being all I had thou'lt envy me. 
Sebas. Thou makest what is thick as 
rare as air, 

The weft of cold deceit is not so rare 

As fleecy webs that float upon the air. 
Eud. I'll test that with a pound of 
rarest air, 

And with a pound of cold deceit as rare. 

The air will not sustain the rare deceit, 

The cold deceit will rot the rarest air. 
Sebas. But as thou breathest air, so 
rnay'st 

Thou breathe deceit, the one being pon- 
derous 

As the other. 

Eud. The heart's diastole 'gainst her 
return 

Expels the crimson stream through its 
canals ; 

So breathing out what I inhaled befere, 

I rid myself again of cold deceit. 

But come, this jargon tells me not of thee, 

Why thou art here, nor of thy strange 
condition. 

My name is silence; let thine be elo- 
quence, 

That thou rnay'st favor me, mine ears, 
my heart, 

With some kind explanation. 
Sebas. 'Tis meet I should, for my pur- 
suer 

Will now soon be here, that, if he do, 

And nip me in this cage, caged with his 
search, 

I'll lose my cause, and thou wilt lose some 
peace, 

Since gaining greatest joy thy joys would 
cease. 
Ades List! some one comes; I ween 

'tis thy pursuer. 
Sebas. It is: I know that step. 

It is the step of fleet Alphonso who 

Doth tread the earth like silent stealthy 
wind; 

His legs mere aglets dangling here and 
there, 

Do touch the barren ground with such a 
zest, 



1 1 



A OEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act i. 



Thatlo! fresh verdue springeth quickly 

up 
But from the moisture left from one bare 

step. 
This same Alphonso, my dear lady her- 

aldeth 
His master, my unworthy son, though 

loved son, 
Roderick; who comes to thee to learn 

how thou 
Regardest his affections, which though 

true and loyal 
As any lady could desire, I desire thee 

not 
To grant him their requital, but pending 

thy respite, 
Play on his feelings, on his heart, his 

mind 
To steadfast his religion to our kind. 
Oh, my poor suffering heart is hid so 

deep 
In my lost son, that, pardon me, I weep 
For his degeneracy. 
Ades. Be quick, he comes! 

End. Let him not ia, Adessa, yet 

awhile; 
Inveigle him by all artful means outside 
To give us needed time to think, to act; 
Pray haste thee, use thy shrewdest, ut- 
most tact. [Exit Adessa. 
Now, my good lord, what is thy high 

desire ? 
Speak sir, let thy good cause me so in- 
spire 
That, being thine, thine will be mine, to 

wield 
A common issue; our own joys to shield. 
Sebas. Ay! Good Eudora, that were 

well to heart; 
A speech like that to mine ears doth im- 
part 
Where thy ambition lies. Oh ! why should 

one 
Sway such infinite power, where two has 

won 
No laurels from the one! 

End. Speak Lord, and then 

Perchance some power we may sway o'er 

him 
Who now can strong defy us. I have much 
Respect upon my powers to subdue 
This now unruly son of thine to ways 
That may fill thine own self with just 

amaze. 
Sebas. I would the fates so willed it 
End. Doubt it not, 

I go into this cause with one fixed aim, 
My purpose to subdue thy son and tame 
His unnatural freak. Mark thou it well, 

my lord, 
Before I've done with this, thou'lt have a 

son 



Thou'lt be quite proud of. 

Sebas. I rest great faith in thee ; 

And now for the better end of thy ad- 
venture, 

Pay special heed that thou dost so adjust 

Thy manners, speech, thac he'll not thee 
mistrust, 

And so mistrusting, stand aloof from 
thee, 

Refusing to ingratiate with thee; 

Thy pleadings, thy sweet overtures to 
waste 

Upon hard barren grouud like so much 
paste 

Upon a palette. 

End. I'll mark it well, my lord, 

Thar, hath he but one mote of incredulity, 

I'll shatter it with points of feigned in- 
nocence, 

That, falling on his head with well-aimed 
force, 

Will prick him to a credulous good 
humor. 
Sebas. I trust thy shrewdness, lady. 
End. But I would have a little time 

In which to better think, to so devise 

The method of my plottings and my 
deeds, 

That they be precedent to a happier end, 

To crown us both with that we now de- 
fend. 
Sebas. Would'st thou escape ? 
Eud. Ay! ay! my lord, I would be 
calmer than I'm now, 

To meet this hot-head son of thine, and 
vow 

To him what I must needs avow. I'll out 

Aud stroll in listless manner round about, 

Bathed in the dews of a calm and peace- 
ful night, 

Encircled by the beams of soft moonlight. 

Adieu, my lord, let it be known to thy son, 

That Eudora cannot audience him to- 
night, 

This is the better way to win our fight, 

And in the end rejoice in a battle won. 

[Exit. 

Sebas. Oh! never did this earth hold 
one so fair, 

As this same sweet Eudora who would 
dare 

Launch her frail barque on the bosom of 
a deep 

Where ready dangers may upon her leap. 

What go den virtues lie hid in her heart, 

None but her God can to the world im- 
part; 

None but good deeds in charity bestowed 

Can tell of virtues lurked in heart's abode. 

There comes a dream to pilgrims on this 
earth 



Scene hi.] 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



L5 



Whose name is virtue — comes at hour of 

birth; 
Clings to them through their gladsome 

childhood days, 
Until the pilgrim don maturer ways. 
'Tis then the hour when all to changings 

forced, 
Are snatched from youth, and from 

youth's sweets divorced, 
Some left to plod a weary road alone, 
Some scourged, and beat and fed upon a 

bone ; 
Some revel in high pomp, affluent wealth, 
Some bowed beneath the bondage of ill- 
health ; 
Some turn to vassals, some to monarch 

kings, 
Some rise to rule, some fall to underlings. 
Some surfeit high in superfluity, 
Some mope content in mediocrity; 
Some grovel low in dull adversity, 
Some die unknown in sad obscurity. 
There is but one on earth, in wayside 

borough 
That stands unchanged — this is the chaste 

Eudora. 

Enter ADESSA and ALPHONSO. 

Adessa. Back! back! thou knave! 

Sebas. Let him come in, Adessa, thy 
mistress, 
Who has flown, so willed it. 
Where is my son, thy master, Alphonso? 

Alph. By now upon his way to Lady 
Eudora's, my lord. 

Sebas. Did he so guage thine arrival 
here to serve as a precedent to his own, 
whereby the hour of his coming might 
be arrived at ? 

Alph. I think not, my lord. My lord, 
your son seemed somewhat out of his 
prettier moods when he dismissed me on 
my present mission ; and with such a tone 
of command, such as that I have never 
been the object of its address before in 
my experience as serving- man to your 
son, my master, that in sheer dread I ac- 
tually flew to this, my destination, only 
to be blocked on the last stride to its ac- 
complishment, by some one whom at first 
I mistook for a fairy, but who eventually 
developed into this charming creature, 
whom it is now my delectation to gaze 
upon. 

Sebas. Thou fool, it were better to court 
danger than to court a woman; for court- 
ing woman thou dost court a double dan- 
ger, either in a surfeit of good, or a super- 
abundance of bad. 

Alph. Yet this is now my medium, the 
means of my delight; I see no such ex- 
treme of good or bad in this. 



Sebas. The season of extremity is not 
yet due; 

But it will come as winter follows sum- 
mer. 

But there; go meet thy master, give to 
him this news: 

Say shrewdly that Eudora doth his pres- 
ence now refuse; 

Keep secret thou my presence here, look 
well to this, thou knave; 

On pain of my hot fury which will not 
from pain thee save. 
Adph. 'Tis as you say, my lord. 

Farewell, sweet one, I'll see thee soon 
again. [Exit. 

Sebas. Adessa, thy fair mistress, feel- 
ing indisposed, 

Waived meeting my son Roderick till 
some other time, 

That, so respiting, our laid plans are not 
disclosed. 
Ades. Where is my mistress ? 
Sebas. Out in the night sublime 

To let thought cope with thought to bet- 
ter join 

Our purpose to its deed. 

Ades. Why then I'll join 

My mistress and perchance prove shin- 
ing light, 

'Gainst pale moonbeams that flood the 
tranquil night. [Exit. 

Sebas. 'Tis well she goes to give her 
mistress cheer; 

'Tis well I go, lest my son catch me here. 

[EiH. 
SCENE III. Room in Humphrey 's House. 

Enter HUMPHREY. 
Hum. Now plague, thou plaguer's tool, 
I would thee hence; 

Plague thou some other fool in my de- 
fense ; 

Wield to him grimly grim illusive taunts, 

Enshroud his mind with false delusive 
haunts. 

World! world! thou art a mixed and mon- 
grel lot 

Of farce-brained fools, who, brainless, 
praise and plot; 

Praise loud each deed, plot 'gainst each 
other's souls, 

Condoling griefs, each grieving heart 
condoles 

Its own, for what? to grieve again the 
heart 

Just balmed from grief; so does this 
world depart 

From holiness, and so do men play fools, 

Greet fools, consort with them, use them 
for tools 

To thus achieve some mercenary end, 



L6 



A UEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[At'T I. 



Promote intent where good and bad do 

blend. 
Would I could die to live somewhere 

again, 
Or would that I could live here now, as 

when 
I lived a child, when innocence combined 
Itself with happiness. Oh, joys! confined 
Within thy limitless retreat, dissolve 
My anile dotage ; tune my heart's resolve 
To meritorious intent boundless bent, 
From meretricious deeds let it be rent! 
'Tis some hallucination of the brain 
That pricks my conscience with its bitter 

bane, 
Opposing deed with intent, wielding this 
In incongruent metamorphosis. 
But why am I am affright and wildly 

dream 
Strange fantasies ? Absurd to me they'd 

seem 
Another time, unwrought by circum- 
stance, 
As that now wrought by my extrava- 
gance. 
Look hand, thou trembling stranger to 

mine eyes! 
Wherefore comest thou to me in this 

disguise ? 
Thou art as weak and meagre as faint 

breath 
If thou dost palsy at the thought of death. 
Away night dreams! Away diurnal 

thoughts! 
Chase tbou each other where thy chas- 
ing fraughts 
More dark destruction than is freighted 

here; 
Chase where thy victim lies upon a bier. 
Cold death is thy cold issue, coldly greet 
Thine offspring; save thy name disgrace, 

defeat! 
Who comes ? 

Enter ORESTES. 
Avaunt! Orestes, thou would'st come 
Upon me like the doom of death; I'm 

dumb 
With fear, my very fear enforcing speech 
From dumbness to a piping, piercing 

screech. 
I am unnerved to-night, pray give me 

cheer, 
What hast thou learned, Orestes, why 

now here ? 
Ores. I've learned that's bad: bad news 

propelled me here. 
Hum. What! learned that's bad: bad 

news propelled thee here! 
Oh! say it not; my heart succumbed 

with fear, 
Now gorged with it, expanding, it will 

break ; 



Already it begins to sink and quake 
Like twitchings of a sleepless eyelid 

drawn , 
That, 'gainst command, blinks ruefully 

ere dawn. 
What is thy news, Orestes, is't so bad 
Thou can'st not tell it ? 

Ores. Would I could. 

Hum. Oh! mad 

Espousal to a mad decree of fates, 
To grasp for that our peace emaciates 
To dwindlings of itself, ourselves en- 
throne 
With bitterness, with death, with hell's 

bemoan. 
Why do I curse since cursing naught 

avails ? 
Why do I rave since raving never fails 
Of making that already bad still worse ? 
Yet there is some sweet comfort in a 

curse 
That soothes my brewing spirits to some 

peace, 
Though I lose all in losing one dear niece. 
Ores. Dear to thy heart ? 
Hum. Ay! ay! dear to my heart, 

My soul, my life, my joys from me depart 
When I do think how dear Eudora is 
To my forsaken self. 

Ores. More to thy purse, I wis. 

Hum. Well, love were strongest built 

upon a purse. 
Ores. But take the base away love will 

disperse. 
Hum. True, true; why should it not? 

What mountain peak, 
Majestic, soaring high, could rise to seek 
The ether in the sky, had it no base 
To stay it to its ever-constant grace ? 
Ores. In the light of thine own reasons, 

then, thou love'st 
No more Eudora. 
Hum. I could sheath a dagger in her 

heart 
And thank the deed, since it beats not to 

my 
Advantage, as that depended on by her 

acceptance 
Of my nephew. 

Ores. Is thine own house in danger of 

a fall ? 
In losing this, dost thou lose house, lose 

all? 
Hum. Ay! all! all! all! my house, my 

lands, my suffrages 
Will to my bondsmen go to pleasure their 

dire ravages. 
Hark, friend Orestes, to thine ears let me 
Vouchsafe to tell the cause of my ennui: 
Two years ago I ventured forth in trade 
To foreign countries, export merchan- 
dise, 



Scene hi.] 



A G EMI NY OF VIPERS. 



17 



That in return vast fortune may be made ; 

Large moneys I expended in the enter- 
prise, 

Till soon exhausted my poor purse be- 
came, 

And I was forced to borrow, though my 
fame 

Was such that I no trouble had to obtain 

Sufficient to encounter pressing debt, 

And place me thus beyond immediate 
loss. 

Well, in this state of venture and of risk, 

All progressed well till on an evil day 

Grave tidings reached me from my mer- 
chandise, 

That, from some cause unknown or else 
withheld, 

My goods were to great jeopardy ex- 
posed, 

That I might ne'er them apprehend, nor 
worse, 

Receive my money for their late export. 

I did not place much credence in this tale, 

For though the tidings gave me much to 
fear, 

Left much to hope for. Ay, indeed, the 
word 

Came in such doubtful tone that I was 
urged 

By friends, and by my bondsmen, too, to 
cease 

All lamentations. 

But now another evil day doth come; 

My bondsmen, who in past, so generously 

Sustained me from suspense and from 
despond 

At my reported losses, having now grown 
anxious, 

Do me encompass with loud importuni- 
ties, 

Entreating my quick settlement with 
them. 

This could I do, and do ten times the more, 

Did I but have within my empty purse 

One-tenth the value of my merchandise, 

Which I'm afeard ere this is squandered 
all. 
Ores. What of Eudora? 
Hum. Nay, pray ask me not; 

This was my last dim substance of a hope, 

That, seeming first as strong and taut as 
rope, 

Has now, alas! waxed to a single thread. 

Alas! alas! are hopes and prospects 
dead. 

Ores. Perchance 'tis not so bad as thou 
dost fear: 

The mother from her eanlings steals 
away, 

That they become more anxious she re- 
turn. 



So might it be Eudora hath refused 
Thy nephew that he might return again 
To later get that he desires from her. 
I know these lovers are a wily lot, 
Withholding this to give that they've not 

got, 
Bestowing that they've got yet giving 

not, 
To finally court love upon a cot. 

Hum. If thou dids't know this lady 

thou would'st not 
Associate her name with coquetry. 
She is as true as chaste, withal reserv'd, 
As true as her reserves of filtered gold, 
As chaste as the pure gold that crouches 

there, 
As rich as I, myself, am nude and bare. 
Ores. But thou may'st yet amass thy- 
self with wealth, 
If thou but utilize thy native stealth, 
And at the proper time make proper 

strides 
Into occasion, when she most confides 
In thee, thy prudence, judgment, and 

thy wits, 
To gain advantage to thyself, that fits 
Thy sad necessities. 

Hum. Did I not this ? 

Did I not with the keenest, shrewdest wit 
Foresee my nephew's hot uxorious love, 
And urge him on to its indulgences, 
With mine own eye upon mine own ad- 
vantages ? 
To what result ? Why, Theophilus is re- 
fused, 
And you and I, for money, stand abused. 
Had he been so successful in his suit, 
My coffers would have filled; I to refute 
These charges made against me, clearing 

me 
From debt to my hard bondsmen, stifling 

me. 
My nephew I can twist about with ease, 
And do with him whate'er it might me 

please; 
Bah! why dwell I on futile, barren 

ground ? 
I might twist now till to a ball I wound 
This barren nephew of my flesh and 

blood. 
'Twere best I kill him for his want of 

blood, 
And end this farce in a tragedy of blood. 
Ores. Yet still, withal, there might be 

some rebate, 
Thy mind's recourse should have its full 

debate. 
Full many a fight begins with facing 

death, 
And ends in vict'ry wielding greater 

death. 



is 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act i. 



Hum. True, true: thou'rt right, Orestes, 
thou art right, 
And though I now face death I'll to the 

fight 
Once more equipped with reenforced 

arms; 
Beware, Orestes, that my fight alarms 
Thee not; for like a beast pressed to its 

bay, 
If so it be, I'll wield death and dismay. 
Hark! by my soul, here comes the weak- 
ling now; 
He who could not a stronger love avow 
But that to lose it all. Soft, good Orestes. 
Let not his mood distraught us, nor divest 

us 
Of our own sweet selves; list, sir: our 

moods 
Must cure his sad complexion of its droop, 
To sponge him to a still more willing 

dupe: 
So doff that look and don a prettier smile, 
To greet his entrance in a pleasant style. 
Enter THEOPHILUS. 
Ores. Mark, Humphrey, his dejection 

in his gait. 
Hum. Fain would I mark erection on 

his pate. 
Ores. And let the mark stand for thy 
pent-up hate 
To gratify revenge, thee satiate. 
Hum. Soft! he speaks. 
Theo. Eudora! 

Hum. What said he, sir ? 

Ores. Eudora. 

Hum. Bah! Eudora; sweet Eudora! 
Lost saint of my heart's passions, lost 

Eudora! 
Oh! thou dear angel; angels plot my 

death 
When thou dost lose thyself to me. 

Orestes, 
How do I mince this phantom thing 
Of unrequited love ? 
Do I steep it with that remorseful air 
Instinctive of that pain a heart must bear 
At such a loss? How this does sicken me! 
Were love sought for with half the ardu- 
ousness 

That lost love is bewail'd, 
Ne'er would there be an issue of lost love, 
Ne'er bitterness entail'd. 
Ores. He speaks again. 
Theo. Dear heart, dear heart, 

lost soul; 
Dead hope, dead hope, once dear, now 
dead! 
Hum. Thou mole, 

Go burrow in thy hill and there lament 
In darkness drear thy fate to thy content. 
But I must put a bridle on my prate, 



To stop this tirade of my heart's deep 
hate; 

Stand by, Orestes, I'll now speak to him 
An uncle's deep condolence. 

Theo. Light is dim, 

Love dead, heaven has grown cold, earth 
is a hell, 

Hell is my doom, doom reigns in me pell- 
mell. 
Hum. Come, come, Theophilus, why 
art thou in this garb entranc'd ? 

Did'st thou not note when I to thee ad- 
vanced 

To greet thy pitiable approach ? 

Theo. Methinks I dream'd; 

Why uncle, is this you? And thou, 
Orestes ? 

My eyes! my brain is in a whirl; my 
heart 

In pensile anguish, lifeless of a throb, 

Cold, cheerless, ice, beats but to wail 
and sob 

My heart's love's requiem. Dear uncle, 
stay my hand; 

Nay, not my heart, my heart now to ex- 
pand, 

Must needs be new — replenish'd with 
new life, 

Ere it be mine again — to 'suage this strife. 
Hum. Stay, nephew, be not so. 
Ores. What is thy cheer? 

Hum. Here are thy friends, Theopilus, 
even here and here. 

Thy uncle's love for thee is all so great 

He'd sacrifice his life to reinstate 

Thy wonted peace of mind within thy 
mind, 

And dying, think he'd done a deed not 
kind. 
Theo. I thank thee, uncle, but when 
thou canst kill 

This grief, I'll be a suitor to thy skill. 
Hum. Thou know'st, Theophilus, that 
my credit now 

Lies at the door of questionable attack, 

That all my wealth must to the bondsmen 
go, 

When so the whim possess them to en- 
force. 

But what to thee my poor griefs are to 
me, 

Thy griefs will be my griefs as thine to 
thee; 

So shifting thine to mine and mine to me, 

I'll make thy griefs my griefs to leave 
thee free. 

What is the loss of gold to loss of love ? 

One comes from below, the other from 
above, 

One comes from filthy dregs of quagmires 
deed, 



Scene hi.] 



A GEM IN Y OF VIPERS. 



Ml 



The other falls from heaven like gentle 

sleep. 
Oh, nephew! let me with a gentle hand, 
Dispel thy gloom, upon new hopes thee 

stand. 
Thco. Thou talk'st of something futile 

of success; 
Hope in a dream may tangibly impress, 
But hope in truth intangibly depress. 
Hum. Dost thou say this ? Well, let 

me have a say; 
And whilst I say let thine ears have a 

heed, 
Thy heed a head ; thy head a perspicuity. 
Say first thou art in love, thy love pro- 
found, 
Say she thou lovest thy hopes would all 

confound, 
Say thy love's name commences with an 

E, 
Say this same E is known full- well by me ; 
Say my best friendship I through her 

enjoy, 
And say through this I may forthwith 

employ 
The means by which thy pleasures may 

be crown'd 
By sweet Eudora's lips so ripe and round. 
Hark! nephew, say'st thou but the need- 
ed word, 
I'll to Eudora fleet as a carrier's bird; 
Learn from her lips — those lips so ripe 

and round— 
The cherry of her droppings; dropping, 

bound 
Back to her lips, be it not sweet to me, 
And being bitter, be not sweet to thee, 
For her maturer thought and later speech, 
That time abetting love might love her 

teach. 
Theo. Cans't thou do this ? 
Hum. Ay! can and will, and more. 

This instant will I start, even now be- 
fore 
Thou canst find breath to speed me on my 

way; 
Let me beseech thee, nephew, here to 

stay, 
Whilst good Orestes and myself betake 
Our two selves to this errand for thy sake. 
Meanwhile thou canst regale thyself in 

feast 
From mine own table till thy needs have 

ceased. 
I will'd thee here to dine with me at eight, 
But now I will that you for us not wait, 
Since it will throw thy dining much too 

late. 
Look for us back by ten. 
Adieu my nephew until then. 

[Exeunt Humplirey and Orestes. 



Theo. Oh, fate! thou'rt kind; thy kind- 
ness is to me 
What hope was; now I can new hope 

foresee; 
And viewing this the vista of my peace, 
I'll take him at his word, till my needs 
cease. [Exit. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. A Lonely Place in Wood Surround- 
ing Eudora's Seat. 
Enter EUDORA. 
Eud. Oh lovely night! Oh, soft, still 

night serene! 
Oh calm moonlight, shed thy rich beams 

on me; 
Skim o'er dull earth thy shadows and thy 

sheen, 
Like phantoms strangely wrought upon 

the sea. 
For I have need of thee, oh gentle night, 
And thee, thou peerless, beauteous mooii 

so bright; 
Need, too, have I of thee, thou shadows 

drear, 
Have need for all, to banish fear, brood 

fear! {Strain of nmsic without. 

But hark! what strange weird music 

steals from thence, 
As though from heaven it fall upon my 

sense. 
Oh welcome thou, thou cool and soothing 

draught, 
I, who pass pleasures by, untouch'd, un- 

quaff'd, 
Will, turning, drink of thee, thy bitterest 

lees, 
To still my heart, my joyless soul to 

please. [Aneels and listens, 

SONG FROM WITHOUT. 

We roll, we roll our balls along, 
We sing, we sing a jocund song, 
We dance, we dance a nimble jig, 
We don, we don a grotesque rig, 
We sail, we sail into the air, 
We join, we join our brothers there, 
We clink, we clink our glasses high, 
We drink, we drink our glasses dry, 
We float, we float upon the breeze, 
We sneeze, we sneeze, we sneeze, we 

sneeze, 
We fall, we fall to our warm den, 
We roll, we roll our balls again. 
Eud. As cold and cheerless dawn is 
fore'd away 
By advent of a bright and cheerful day, 
So this quaint music soothes me to a rest, 
Lulls me to sleep, instills peace in my 
breast. [Falls asleep. 



20 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act ii. 



SONG WITHOUT. 

But when we're sad, we sigh, we sigh, 
And this is when to die, to die, 
We carry one away, away, 
Oh, this is one sad day, sad day; 
For love we each so well, so well, 
That we to each can't tell, can't tell, 
How well we do love each, love each, 
Though we do scream, and screech, and 

screech. 
Come, come to us, Gershom, Gershom, 
Bring to us our meerschaum, meer- 
schaum, 
So we can draw sweet peace, sweet 

peace, 
Our sorrows now to cease, to cease! 

Enter ADESSA and ALPHONSO during song. 
Ades. What bitter plaintive music. 
Alph. It is Gershom 

And his imps: they do revel high to- 
night. 
But come, sweet life, what say you to my 

suit. 
Ades. 'Twould suit me best to find my 

mistress now. 
Alph. And finding her 'twould be some 

other whim. 
Ades. And finding her, I durst not find 

a him. 
Alph. Then let 'him', finding her, find 

thee out first. 
Ades. Nay, nay, sir, find that last that's 

worst. 
Alph. In finding thee I find that which 

is best. 
Ades. Me better than my mistress— I'm 

mistress'd. 
Alph. And I thy future lord, am now a 

lord. 
Ades. A pretty lord: thou canst not 

wield a sword. 
Alph. I'll teach thee that I can some 

near-dawn'd day, 
And lunge me at thyself to thy dismay. 
Ades. Stop sir, beseech! thouput'stme 

in a fright. 
Alph. Why fright? I said not near- 

twilighted night. 
Ades. Thou coarse-spun knave! I'll 

now no more of thee. 
Alph. For why? Why but because I 

tickled thee. 
Ades. Be careful that thou tickle'st not 

thyself. 
Alph. In tickling thee, I tickle, too, 

myself. 
Ades. To tickle much is said to court 

sure death. 
Alph. I'll run that risk as long as I 

have breath. 



Ades. Thou zany-headed knave, thou 

art not gallant. 
Alph. No neither; neither am I gall 

nor ant. 
Ades. Too bitter for gall; too idle for 

an ant. 
Alph. But serve me fair; too idle for 
an ant, 
Too sweet for gall; so therefore right for 
thee. 
Ades. Thou art not right till thou dost 

prove to be. 
Alph. How prove ? 
Ades. Go seek my mistress. 

Alph. Mistress mine, 

Art thou not mistress in thy right ? 

Ades. Not thine 

Till thou dost find out mine. 

Alph. Where shall I look ? 

Ades. Look high, look low, in meadow, 
laughing brook. 
Look o'er far mountain, dale, look every- 
where; 
Look everywhere, where there's a mote 
of air. 
Alph. Then I must needs have sub- 
stance of ubiquity. 
Ads. Which ne'er can be since thou 

hast such antiquity. 
Alph. My nimble limbs should tell you 
I'm not old, 
That I am not a father to myself, 
But rather they should long ere this have 

told 
I fain would be a husband to thyself. 
Ades. How well thou pleadest and for 
what a cause! 
Methinks Alphonso, thou wert best to 

pause 
Before you step on strange ground such 

as' this 
Of venture for anticipated bliss. 
Look wary, sir, and well; the ground 

might break 
To duck thee and thy love in Cupid's lake. 
Alph. I'll take the risk, fair Goddess; 
wilt thou be 
The ground upon whose strangeness I am 

he 
Who will adventure forth ? Where is the 

lake? 
Let me plunge in, some precious jewels 
take. 
Ades. Soft, soft, young man! thine 
ardor heats thy brain, 
Creating dreams thou canst not yet attain. 
Get thee now gone, my mistress search 

in speed; 
'Tis then I'll think to merit thee thy 
meed. 

Enter RODERICK. 
Alph. Heavens, my master! 



Scene i.] 



A (IEMINY OF VIPERS. 



21 



Ades. Thy master, Lord Sebastian, and 

thyself 
Seem to have been forgot. 

Alph. In thee, thou elf; 

Thou art the cause ; thou didst entice me 

thence. 
But quick, my master comes. 

Ades. There's no defense; 

He must not see us here. 

Alph. We'll run and look 

For thy sweet mistress by the laughing 

brook. [Exeunt Adessa and Alpkonso. 
Rod. Did I hear voices speak ? Or was 

that heard 
But faint far echo off these distant hills 
Of my heart's dreadful beatings ? Cap- 
tive thou! 
Cag'd and secur'd 'gainst plunderous 

hand of man, 
Corsag'd in prison of steel, mew'd in 

hermetical bands, 
Thou'rt strange in mystery shrouded! 

Beat thou on, 
Thou mystic dispenser of dear life and 

love, 
Thou monarch of tyrants, terrible wield- 

er of death, 
Thou thing of quivering flesh; cease thou 

but once, 
One single throb omit; lo! life is gone, 
And love is gone, yea all but death is 

gone. 
Oh death! how like unto thee is this 

horrid place, 
How fitting, how appropriate is thy 

thought. 
How like a chill enforc'd comes thy white 

face 
Before mine eye, before mine own cold 

face! 
There is a something in this loathsome 

aii- 
That seems to savor death; would I 

could tear 
Away from earth this fulsome tyranny; 
Dethrone the mighty monarch; from 

him wrest 
That power with which in one spare 

moment, jest 
Is quick cut short, the jester pressed to 

bend 
'Neath the throes of an untimely, sudden 

end. 
But why wince I and o'er these matters 

mince ? 
I'll mince them now no more, nor neither 

wince 
At their illusion's dreams! Begone, thou 

thief, 
Thou ravisher of peace; I would as lief 
Be dead myself as have thee reign within, 
To rule destruction and' abet lewd sin. 



So, cease this quibbling, heart, lest quib- 
bling still, 
Thou wilt, forgetting, cease to beat at 

will, 
Whilst I, perforce, cease my short pil- 
grimage, 
To dwell forever in death's vassalage. 
Still I do wonder, wondering, stop to 

muse: 
What would the world regret, what would 

it lose 
Were such a thing as I myself to die ? 
Would any my death reverence with a 

sigh ? 
I have a father, stern, commanding, true, 
Him I revere as is a father's due, 
And he loves me, for I'm the only one; 
Would he, I wonder, grieve for a dead 

son? 
I have a mother, sweet and sweetly fair, 
Who dotes on me — the son whom she did 

bear 
Into this hapless world of woe and joy; 
Would she, I wonder, grieve for her dead 

boy? 
Of all my friends, dear Lubin I love best, 
Ay, better far than I love all the rest; 
My heart misgives me when from him I 

rend; 
Would he, I wonder, grieve for his dead 

friend ? 
Ah, what of thee Eudora, thee I love 
Far better than them all, thou gentle 

dove ; 
To think of aught is but to think of thee, 
Were I to die, would'st thou grieve much 

for me ? 
And what of thee, Sir Roderick, infidel! 
Thee who believeth not in heaven and 

hell; 
Accepts no God, revileth His fair name; 
Would'st thou grieve much to die in such 

a shame ? 
Ah, who can tell? Can any on this earth 
From ancient sage to merest babe at 

birth ? 
No, none, not one: there's none on earth 

can tell; 
Or if there be, then there's a heaven and 

hell. 
But there! I'll seek Eudora, learn her 

mood, 
Break my long fast to feast on daintier 

food. 
\_He turns ami espies Eudora still asleep. 
What! by my life; were this loved sight 

wrought real, 
'Twould not more clearly to mine eyes 

reveal 
That I do languish for! Stay thou, O 

dream; 
Let not thyself dispel thy lovely self, 



22 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act ii. 



As thou at dead of night art wont to do, 
When thou hast wafted to some sylvan 

bower, 
Or perch'd unsafe the victim of thy power 
Upon some inaccessible mountain peak, 
To thus forsake him, leave him, so to 

speak, 
At the bare mercy of the treacherous 

winds, 
Till he, awearied, bruis'd, and broken, 

finds 
Strange, sweet relief at being torn away 
To fall, fall, fall to earth, and falling, lay 
Affrighted, blear-eyed, or be dashed to 

death, 
To wake at last for very want of breath ; 
Stay thou O dream, to fascinate my sight, 
I feast upon thy boards, and feasting, 

might 
Be wafted to my heaven, for reigning 

there, 
Repose upon Eudora's bosom fair. 
Now dreamer's dream, methought Eudora 

moved, 
Though not mine eyes but rather instinct 

proved 
To my distracted self that she did stir; 
What ! this a dream that I must this infer? 
I'll to her now and softly, gently touch 
Her soft smooth cheek with my soft hand; 

why such 
A softness to a softness softly brought 
Must needs bring softness to a heart hard- 
wrought, 
And soften any anger lurking there; 
Thus I'd approach a tigress in her lair, 
To turn ferocious mood to intent meek, 
And seeking peace, much more would I 

then seek. 
[Eudora moves and partially raises, her head. 
Why stay, foul hand, perchance thy soft- 
est part 
Is far too coarse to soothe by touch a 

heart 
As tender as Eudora's is. 

End. Who speaks ? 

Rod. Who speaks; 'tis thine own pre- 
cious self that speaks, 
Nor ne'er did two such words from two 

such lips 
Strike two such listening ears with two 

such tips 
To two such cordial tinglings of delight, 
As thy two words have done. 

End. Why, I'm affright, 

Why this is Gershom's place, 'tis said by 

some 
Strange things have happened here! 

Why did I come 
To such a place, alone, at such a time ? 
A\>d. [Aside] Now tongue, be wise; let 

thy speech be sublime, 



For thou dost court an angel here on 

earth, 
And in this venture all my joys I girth. 

[Eudora slowly rises. 
Lo! rising out of beauty's beauteous cot, 
Thy beauty rises out of beauteous spot, 
Thyself a downy bed reposing thee, 
Thyself a beauteous queen exposing thee. 
End. Do I still sleep and do my senses 

quib? 
No, by my troth, as man doth want a rib 
There stands the shortage now before 

mine eyes; 
Him whom to cherish is but to dispise. 
Rod. As man's deficit is for woman's 

make, 
Let my deficit so stand for thy sake. 
Thy God, 'tis said, created man of dust, 
Then placed brave Adam's rib in Eve's 

fair bust. 
End. But Adam was a christian, not 

like you, 
Disclaiming God and Christ, worse than 

a Jew. 
Rod. And Eve, an evil temptress, 

lewd, unchaste, 
The very name of Eve doth evil taste. 
End. But we are not all Eves; true 

woman's shrine 
Encloses virtues rare withal divine; 
The very name of woman beggars lust, 
Protects her from its taint, its tabid rust. 
'Tis not in woman's sphere — thank God 

for this 
To tarnish woman's name, her virtue hiss ; 
But rather in her sphere who would de- 
fame 
Pure womanhood by falling 'neath the 

name. 
There is this line— thank God again for 

this — 
Dividing lust from virtue ; Oh ! to kiss 
The feet of Him who founded a decree 
Debarring lust from sailing virtue's sea. 
No woman need have fear who would 

adorn 
The name of woman, shielding it from 

scorn. 
A name well guarded from pollution's 

spoils 
Is well worth guarding, worth a life of 

toils; 
For lo ! behold true woman as she stands, 
Untarnish'd and untouch'd by ruthless 

hand? ; 
Her virtue unimpeach'd like mountain 

snow 
Beyond man's reach from the valley far 

below. 
Rod. [Aside] How must I woo this fair 

and dainty thing, 
So like the innocent bird upon its wing ? 



Scene i.] 



A GEMINI" OF VIPERS. 



23 



How can I win a heart so good and pure, 
That cannot stoop to sin nor sin endure ? 
My soul misgives to deign unworthy 

speech, 
My tongue seems cleav'd, refusing to be- 
seech 
Of her a hand, a heart, a love, a life 
That soars so high above mine own poor 

life. 
Still that withheld from hazard's wild 

degree, 
Like dross, lies idle, bringing naught to 

me; 
'Tis unwise husbandry to hoard great 

wealth, 
Which by fair usance and with proper 

stealth 
Might be redoubled, bringing rich return 
In welcom'd interest, earning all to earn. 
'Tis thus I'll hazard my affection's gold 
Upon Eudora's answer as 'tis told. 

Eud. My lord, is this a fitting time and 

place 
For thee thy presence and thy moods to 

grace ? 
What passing wanton humor drew thee 

here 
Where naught dwells save a grave and 

rising fear ? 
Rod. Canst thou stand here on this 

same very spot 
Ingeniously pretending to know not 
Why I have wended my footsteps this 

way 
When thou hast wended thine this self- 
same way ? 
Ingenuous ay, dost thou pretend to be, 
If thou dost think to slyly hoodwink me. 
What would'st thou do did I retaliate 
And with ingenuous quirk return thy 

bait? 
Might I not say in vain apostasy, 
That I stole forth in silent ecstasy, 
To vent a humor, passing though it be, 
Befitting silent night, the wold, the lea ? 
Could I not with the same ingenuous air, 
Me even here you standing even there, 
From here to there soft whisper to you so 
That I am here because I'm here: nor go 
Shall I until it suit my will; nor stay 
Unless it suit me best to go away ? 
This humor of a man is much disguis'd, 
It creepeth in his heart all unappris'd, 
And lurking there pulls him first here 

then there, 
Gives him no peace. Poor man! he does 

not dare 
Give in return one reprehensive rake, 
Else in repay more peace itself betake. 
Eud. Then rakes rest render, peace a 

pricker's pierce, 
The one to balm, the other to make fierce. 



Rod. Why so stand I, pricked, pierced, 

and probed with doubt, 
Balm for whose pains do I exist without. 
End. Then truly spoke, bad humor 

drew you here. 
That peace might prick, withholding 

peaceful cheer. 
Rod. Let discipline which cruel peace 

controls, 
Teach me by torture how thy heart con- 
doles 
The pangs of such a peace. Then let my 

pride 
Vault high to Jupiter's place, there dwell; 

confide 
My secret soul in beauteous Venus' ear, 
And whisper her a love that she may 

hear 
In unperturbed stillness, ruminate 
Upon that heard, my life to radiate. 
Eud. Thy moods do make thee rave. 
Rod. No, no, not they! 

Say this one does. This is a mood to stay, 
To make men rave, to make men's bos- 
oms shake 
Like rumblings of the earth, the earth's 

fierce quake. 
Eud. Doth not ambition's aim point 

high for one 
Who is as Godless as thyself? 

Rod. Oh, sun! 

Oh, venus bright, exalted star on high, 
Thou art my fix'd ambition even nigh, 
The constellation in my sky of hope; 
What would I give could I with thee elope, 
With thee forever dwell! Yea, I would 

fain 
Give other hopes, loves, joys for thee to 

gain ! 
Am I unworthy one so chaste as thee ? 
Look! I before thy grace on bended knee 
Invoke thy pardon — mercy's grandest 

sphere 
From whence is gently dealt to mortals 

here 
Boon'd ransoms, granting life to fetter'd 

joys— 

Oh! grant in mercy life to my mew'd 

joys- 

I, thy pedestal, thee my apex 'bove, 
Light my base life with the candle of thy 

love. 
Eud. Thee I did oft behold a prattling 

babe 
With these same eyes, myself, like thee, 

a babe, 
In years, from now, some score or more 

agone ; 
Dost thou remember once upon the lawn, 
When thou in rompish humor for a freak 
Did'st peevish, plan thy babish hands to 



24 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act ii. 



To captivate the aphrodite bright 
As she did wing herself away in fright, 
Eluding thy babe's grasp to thy chagrin, 
And soaring high, turn, mocking thy 

chagrin ? 
As young a babe as I myself was then, 
I have recall'd this freak oft and again; 
I do recall it now to my regret, 
Because thy moods did then such romps 

beget. 
Rod. Fair lady, I bethink me thou dost 

wrong 
In tuning argument to a nursery song, 
To bring to bear on man's maturer age 
The memories of a child's wild freaks; 

thus guage 
By them what in the man doth dwell; 
Pray pleasure me, my lady, how canst 

tell? 
Eud. Why 'tis an easy task, a simple 

thing; 
God guag'd our thoughts, our minds to 

subtly bring, 
By means of pron'd instinctive pow'r so 

will'd, " 
In swift transmission, heart to heart in- 
still' d, 
From mind to mind in tutor's mission 

bent, 
To give, to take, receive as it is sent. 
That instinct thou dost note in bird and 

beast 
Is this same instinct dwells in man, in- 

creas'd 
By God's decree sprung wisely from a 

love, 
Surpassing that bestow'd on beast or 

dove. 
By means of this innate instinctive power, 
Thoughts can read thoughts hid deep 

within the bower 
Of man's most sacred reveries. 

Rod. What then! 

I know the greatest step in life is'when 
Bold boyhood seeks to stride a manly 

gait, 
But mincing, stumbles o'er a step so great 
That few accomplish taking it. But 

come; 
Thou would'st not say lhat I am still so 

dumb 
That I am still a mincing, brainless youth : 
Methinks I merit more than this, for- 
sooth ! 
Eud. What is thy meed— what thou 

dost best deserve, 
That thou will get, get from God's own 

reserve. 
Thy youth thy life's own truthful prece- 
dent, 
Thy life thine after-life's true precedent; 
The way we live in youth we live in age, 



'Tis thus in age to heaven our hopes we 

guage. 
So we do view it in all nature's works, 
In field, in sky, in air it surely lurks; 
Night's roral fusion, verdure's chrystal 

bath 
Bathes verdure's double in her aftermath. 
But there, I must betake me to my house 
Lest by my absence I will it arouse. 
Rod. Stay yet awhile; though yon 

bright moon doth beam, 
The very thoughts of thy departure seem 
To throw a darkness over me. Stay near! 
Eud. Stay near! for what? Did I in- 
vite thee here 
Or thou me bid, that thou should'st coax 

me so, 
So that, perforce, when will'd, I cannot 

go? 
Rod. I would not coax thee, lady, no, 

not I, 
Though I did languish for thee, for thee 

die. 
Eud. Why then, thou'rt gallant; what 

would'st thou of me? 
Rod. Why thee, thyself; no other gift 

but thee, 
Gelded from whom I'm rack'd as a trou- 
bled sea. 
Eud. Thou cravest that 'tis not for me 

to give. 
Rod. What, art thou not thyself; thine 

own to live, 
To do, to will as thy propensities 
Deem meet to dictate thee ? Defense it is 
That I must claim my right, to wield de- 
fense 
For thee from thine ungallant fop. 

Eud. Expense 

Thyself thy troubles that now trouble 

thee, 
Attack thyself if thou wouldst service me. 
Thou art the fop, or if not fop, as near 
A fop as any who to me are dear. 
Rod. Oh heart! thou put'st a shadow 

o'er my doom 
Which death itself could brighten of its 

gloom. 
Am I a fop, a morsel in my broth, 
Dank-refuse in the sea? There, there, I 

troth 
A love that springs from anxious, loving 

heart; 
Deny it not, make not my true love 

smart. 
Eud. Troth not a plighted love that 

thou canst not 
With equal strides requite as thou hast 

trothed. 
The name of love with ancestry so chaste 
Meets desecration on the lips 6f him 



Scene i.] 



A GEMIXY OF VIPERS. 



25 



Whose heart beats forth a life so base 
impure 

As thine sustains. 
Red. What! must I this endure 

From her whose love I counted as secure, 

Which now falls off like a discarded robe, 

To leave me standing nude as a beggared 
Job, 

Deprived of the habiliments of warm love, 

Deprived of sweet Eudora's cherishing 
love? 

Now, heaven forbid! Such want of warm 
array 

Doth chill my soul to cold and seared dis- 
may, 

That my poor blood c'oth freeze and doth 
congeal 

Within my sluggish veins. 
Eud. There, canst thou feel, 

And feeling, canst thou still dwell on pure 
love, 

As though there were no heaven for us 
above, 

No purity in the love that comes from 
thence, 

To nourish in my heart a strong defense 

'Gainst such poor stuff as thou dost offer 
me, 

The poorest that could come to me from 
thee? 

Thy oracle I'll repeat: ' Oh, heaven for- 
bid!' 

Destroy this farceful thing; from me it 
rid. 
Rod. Didst thou, fair lady, ever stop to 
note 

How soft a thing a heart is that does dote 

On some beloved soul? Didst thou ere 
pause 

To mark effect of words that are the 
cause 

Of that soft heart's repining? If thou 
didst not 

Look thou into these eyes to note the 
theft 

Which thou hast made — a loving heart 
bereft 

Of thine affections. 

Eud. To gaze on what ? Didst thou, 

In willful humor, purposeless to aught, 

Save that to entertain a straggler's mood, 

In wandering slow about, now here, now 
there, 

Ere trace a thoughtless course o'er hill, 
in dale, 

In some cool shady nook, some still re- 
treat, 

In meadow, woodland, richly-scented 
bower, 

Lost to thyself, enrapt by fragrant flower, 

Till lo ! thou pause on some clear stream- 
let's bank, 



Enchanted, spell-bound, thine own heart 

appalled ? 
To gaze on what ? To gaze on thine own 

self, 
In image not quite as thyself, in all 
Thy fair exactitude, but rather cast 
In portray by a scrawl more rude, made so 
By the rippling bosom of the streamlet. 
Well, so I gaze on my sad heart, as I 
Look through thine eyes on thine, which 

mirrors mine 
Back to mine own sad eyes. 

Rod. Why then, if thine 

Be sad like this and mine be sad like thine, 
'Tis folly our ambitions with more sad- 
ness to entwine. 
Eud. Yet folly is the only course left 
for us now to tread, 
Since one of us is infidel, the other chris- 
tian bred. 
Rod. Ah! sweet Eudora how canst thou 
with heart as hard as iron 
Surround my life so cruelly with miseries 

that environ, 
And make sad captive of my joys in 

chains as hard as heart; 
Oh ! surely thou would'st not say nay, and 
then let me depart! 
End. Were I to say I would say yea, 
but my conscience speaks to thee, 
Thus it doth say a bitter nay, and sends 
thee far from me. 
Rod. Dear love, I'm blest, thou would'st 

say yea— 
Eud. But my conscience would say 

nay— 
Rod. Oh! what foul hand so foully 
made 
That foul thing we call conscience. 

End. Soft! man, 

Thou would'st not ridicule a friend in the 

presence of his friend, 
Would'st thou then desecrate my God, in 
the presence of His friend ? 
Rod. Thou hast a God, make me thy 

slave. 
Eud. When thou hast God, I'll be thy 

slave. 
Rod. I will not be a slave to God. 
Eud. Then I'll be none to thee. 
Rod. I would not have thee be my 
slave, 
Save that fond love doth make of thee ; 
I am to thee bound in strong love, 
Thus I would have thee bound to me. 
Eud. 'Tis useless for thee further to 
discourse; 
For plead thou till thy very throat grow 

hoarse 
I'm obdurate: I stand upon firm ground, 
I'll have thee not though I two hearts do 
wound. 



2G 



A GEMINY OF YIPEES. 



[Act ii 



Rod. In the light of all things born in 

reason's zone, 
Why strain thy answer to this unjust 

tone? 

End. By reason of celestial justice sent 

To teach a temporal justice what is meant 

By that we know as justice here on earth, 

Which wroughts dismay when sorrows 

should be mirth, 
Which proffers pleasures when men 

should be scourg'd, 
Upholding vice when vice should be sub- 

merg'd. 
Rod. Should my heart, bleeding, bleed 

then thus for thee ? 
Is this thy justice ? Poor it seems to me. 
End. That justice is the surest and the 

best, 
O'ertopping deeds to crown love with 

love's crest, 
Omitting naught that constitutes an end, 
A goal of bliss where all things mutually 

blend. 
Rod. Why such, methinks, will be my 

only goal, 
When I have thee, my true heart and 

my soul. 
End. Indeed I do, myself, so warrant 

this, 
Else thou wilt ne'er me win, my lips ne'er 

kiss. 
'Tis so decreed to be my fated fate 
To love a tyrant who doth his God hate; 
Well, be it so; until thy views do change, 
Come not to me with love nor love's 

harangue. 
My purpose question not; for purpose- 
less — 
Save to indulge a whim, this I confess — 
I take my stand, my stand to strong de- 
fend, 
Defending thee and me, thee strength to 

lend. 
My heart unfolding like a fragrant bud, 
Diffusing, loves thee better than life's 

blood; 
If dear they be, let these dear words from 

me 
Bring joy and comfort, peace and 

strength to thee ; 
'Tis all at present I have mind to give, 
Unless, in reason, thou livest as I live. 
Rod. By what shrewd argument, deep- 
seated awe, 
By what infinite order or what law 
Would'st thou have me to change my 

manners, modes, 
To revolutionize my thoughts' abodes ? 
By what law would'st thou seek to low'r 

the skies 
To earth's humiliating plane; or rise 



Lewd earth to heaven's immense, ethe- 
real sphere, 

Surround pure heaven with earth's at- 
mosphere ? 

Thou would'st not say the seas are out of 
place, 

Nor the white-wing'd argosies that sail 
their face; 

Else when doth water on a mountain 
stand, 

Or sbips go skimming o'er so much dry 
land? 

Forgive me my infringement on thy 
speech, 

But it is meet I quote thee, thee to teach: 

Yea, ' we do view it in all nature's works, 

In field, in sky, in air it surely lurks,' 

Proclaiming to our senses, to our eyes 

That all things have a place on earth, in 
skies. 

Do nostrils greet th' aroma from the rose 

That limbs may speed to haunts of carrion 
crows ? 

Do ears pause, list'ning to the lutist's 
touch, 

That eyes may seek some chattering 
baboon's hutch ? 

Why were a man's five senses given him 

But to enhance conception to a neater 
trim ; 

The blind, the deaf, the palsied, and the 
fool 

Do learn but little in Dame nature's 
school; 

And learning naught of her concinnity, 

Wax worse denied her close affinity. 

But I who have two eyes, have pow'r to 
see, 

Two ears to hear, hear whilst mine eyes 
do see, 

Who have a smell, a taste, a touch, a 
heart 

To beat them all to rhythm and to art, 

Have also reason and a reason's throne: 

I am, fair one, a master of my own. 
End. Well, if thou would'st thine own 
vain master be, 

Pray thee, oh liege! vouchsafe to pleas- 
ure me 

Two reasons why thou art an infidel; 

Do this, and if they please, I'll love thee 
well. 
Rod. Would'st pawn an angel fair to 
me induce 

My chiefest hope, my heaven to traduce? 

It may not be so pleasant for thine ear 

To list to reasons that do not revere 

Thine own opposing moods. 

End. On me let blame 

Lay his dread hand if thou dost aught de- 
fame. 

Does this thee of thy fear exonerate ? 



Scene i.] 



A GEM IN Y OF VIPERS. 



27 



Why then to me thy reasons pray relate. 

[Enter Humphrey and Orestes from 

behind^ unperceived. 

Rod. Forsooth, I will have had when I 

have done 

A meed worth having, that, so quickly 
won, 

Methinks 'twill fright me much and pain 
me more 

To own so much on such a pygmean 
score. 

Therefore, Eudora, lest thou think'st 
with me, 

With me and with my reasons disagree, 

I'll make them clear, precise, to thee im- 
press 

With their true meaning. 

Eud. Haste : do not digress 

Lest thy delay convict thee, me convince 

That thou art without reason and defense. 
Rod. I'm strong in both nor I know 
not the one 

I'm stronger in, nor that the weaker one, 

For but to say I'm strongest in them both. 
Eud. Now, by my soul, upon my sacred 
oath, 

I perjure not myself when I do swear 

Thou canst no reasons give. Oh! what 
a snare 

In which I have entrapp'd an unknown 
beast, 

That, being captive, mourns for strength 
deceased, 

That claiming both a reason and defense, 

Claims but tneir titles, both at truth's ex- 
pense. 
Rod. Avaunt! fair lady, do not perjur'd 
be 

By swearing such an oath 'gainst mine 
and me; 

For with two reasons I will now dispel 

Thine ill-gain'd glory that doth in thee 
dwell. 

The first of these let be my first defense, 

For thee to please, and me to recom- 
pense: 

For thee to know why I am infidel, 

For me to prove there is no heaven nor 
hell. 

Of all men's moods and whims this side 
the grave, 

Hypocrisy doth most our hearts deprave; 

Of all men's virtues here in this short 
life, 

That virtue we call honor is most rife; 

Of all extremes extant in this wide world, 

Which wide- estranged tenets have un- 
furled, 

Thus hypocritic humors rank the worst, 

Whilst honor for its beauty ranks the 
first. 



Oh, what a mix'd-condition'd world is 

ours 
That men must jostle elbows in the 

bowers 
Of their light recreations with their base 
And vice -corrupted brothers in disgrace! 
Was ever virtue proned in human heart 
So deeply rooted that to gain a start 
Years intervene ere its first bud is blown, 
When lo! 'tis found that virtue ne'er was 

sown? 
Why should the eye be coddled and de- 
ceived 
By counterfeit of that to be believed ? 
Why should the heart accept a loving 

friend 
Who is as viewed but for a venal end ? 
Yet such deceit is practiced every day 
By man on man whene'er man thinks he 

may. , 
Had I a necklace made of hearts de- 

ceiv'd, 
Tears that have well'd from trusting 

hearts bereav'd, 
With one I'd circle Saturn's satellites, 
The other flood the seas to Saturn's 

heights. 
We are but pygmies in an advanced age, 
Some cringing, some libelling, some in 

rage ; 
A cony fabled meeting humble newt, 
So meeting to engage in wild dispute, 
Is like the spirit of these envious times, 
When boys are babes and men ne'er 

reach their primes, 
For very dwarfishness of mind and soul, 
Reducing manhood to a seminole. 
Now I bethink me of a certain one 
Who would, methinks, deceive the shin- 
ing sun 
Were it within the power of a man 
The ethereal space with treacherous 

glance to span. 
This one I've known quite well for years, 

in truth, 
Have known him all my life from very 

youth ; 
Nor good, nor honor hath he that is real, 
Though good and honor doth he daily 

steal 
By usurpation and by practie'd fraud 
Upon his fellows and upon his God; 
For he must needs have God who would 

deceive, 
Else he from goodness men would ne'er 

reprieve. 
Hum. Orestes, by Saint Jove, he doth 

mean me! 
Ores. Ay, ay, my lord. 
Hum. Hark! stay once more; let's see. 
Rod. I also have a friend most kind 

and true 



28 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act ii. 



Whose name is Lubin, one who would 
not do 

A fellow man a wrong for all the world, 

But who doth ever cheer hearts that are 
hurl'd 

Into the vortex of some deep remorse; 

Condoling griefs, respecting some lone 
corse, 

Perchance, which death snatch'd hastily 
away, 

Whilst he from home and friends was far 
away — 

But there; mt thinks thou know'st this 
Lubin well. 
Eud. I do : nor doth a better man now 
dwell 

Upon this loveless earth. 

Rod. Thou pleasest me [ 

When thou dost fairly speak my friend to | 
me; 

For once I mind when we were boys at | 
school, 

Brave Lubin, being my senior, strong and j 
cool, 

Like lightning laid a bullish ruffian low, 

Who wantonly attacked me for his foe. 

Now I did always love him till that time, 

But then love to her highest realm did 
climb ; 

Nor never since has she been lower'd 
thence, 

But still remains in my heart's promi- 
nence, 

That hearing his bare name pronounc'd 
to me, 

My heart doth pause expecting him to 
see; 

For he is always in my heart, my mind, 

Conceal'd from men within affection's 
rind. 

This rind's so tender. Lo! it oft doth 
burst. 

'Tis then with Lubin's love I am im- 
mersed; 

'Tis then with Lubin's self I am pos- 
sessed; 

'Tis then with Lubin's hand I am car- 
essed. 
End. Thou art most right in loving 
Lubin so, 

For he deserveth all thou dost bestow. 
Rod. Ay, he to me is dearer far than I 

Am to myself; lor him I fain would die, 

If but to die would be to make him live, 

That dying hard I might him more joy 
give. 

Indeed 'tis this same very stubborn thing 

That causeth me my dearest friends to 
sting 

Because I cannot be, nor do, nor say 

As they themselves, in their own 'cus- 
tom'd way. 



As I love Lubin so I hate the one 

Whom hating, I would likewise his 
haunts shun. 

I ne'er can be a christian hypocrite, 

Nor with an hypocritic christian sit. 

Before I'll place belief in thy belief, 

I'll have these bloomingJaypocrites make 
brief 

Their visits to this extrageneous place, 

And rid the world of a time-worn dis- 
grace. 
Eud. 'Twould be to render earth yet 
more venust 

But to corrupt the world to deeper lust. 

Men's vices are as filaments in the air 

Which settle unawares in eye, in hair, 

Defying search, eluding capture still, 

With fix'd persistence their poor victim 
fill 

With grosser thoughts, intents of darker 
make, 

Till he is tempted his own life to take. 

But haste, thy other reason: it grows 
late. 
Red. Art thou not pleased out here 

with thy pleased mate ? 
End. Pleased only since I'm here to 

hear him reason. 
Rod. When love prompts rest to talk 

is out of season. 
End. Then let love romp to thus un- 
bridle speech. 
Rod. But love let loose will soon com- 
mit a breach. 
Eud. Then muzzle her though thou 

must needs be dumb. 
Rod. I'll muzzle her though I will not 
be dumb, 

Lest my first speech be insufficient proof 

To turn thy mind to mine and my behoof. 

As long as great illustrious men are 
known 

By virtue of their names and deeds alone, 

They are great men indeed, whose far-off 
light 

Falls brightly on their lessers in the night. 

What dreams of greatness fill our awe- 
struck brains, 

As we, admiring, watch their latest gains! 

We are to them mere subjects, they our 
kings, 

Fear'd and revered by us— poor cringing 
things. 

A great name gets abroad o'er all the 
land, 

From mouth to mouth transmitted, ever 
grand, 

And as it speeds gains fragments of re- 
nown, 

Till it attain distinction for its crown. 

For each ear hearing each tongue swells 
to it 



Scene i.] 



A G EMI NY OF VIPERS. 



29 



An added virtue, wisdom, and rare wit, 
Till it become an oracle sublime; 
The public mind condemns it as a crime, 
If private understanding worship not 
This king with reputation illy-got. 
And so we all are crazy for a gaze 
To gratify the craving and the craze. 
Hearts cannot seek a rest till eyes have 

seen; 
Eyes restless as the hearts till they have 

seen. 
But there! it is the touch that ruins all, 
Dissolves the myth, from mythic spheres 

lets fall 
Long cherished hopes we had to view a 

God, 
Regales our eyes with what? With 

man's own fraud! 
Still we are wiser having seen, ourselves, 
Anticipated power dwarf 'd to elves. 
So with such wisdom I do turn to thee 
And say; who knows, might not thy God 

so be ? 
Eud. Art thou a living man to ask of 

me, 
A living woman who can hear and see, 
Such sacrilegious questions of my God ? 
Begone pretense! Thou art thyself a 

fraud! 

Rod. But hear me, lady ! 

Eud. No! I'll hear thee not; 

Thou hast condemned thyself. 

[Enter ADESSA and ALPHONSO. 

., -, ,, A/ f My mistress! What? 

ides, and Alph. j M £ masber! what? 

End. [To Ades.~\ Peace! 
Rod. [To Alph. ,] Cease! 

[ Roderick withdraws to one side and kneel- 
ing, l>07vs his head. 
Ades. We have been looking high and 
lqw for you, 
We came to this same spot to look for 

you, 

But seeing not yourself sped swift away 
To look for you some other obscure way. 
We've searched in every rill, and delve, 

and nook, 
We've — 
Alph. That we have, and I plunged in 

the brook, 
My head submerg'd, my feet without on 

high, 
My shoulders wet, my legs quite high and 

dry. 
End. Why, this is strange: I've been 

here all the while, 
Ere since I left my house in sudden style ; 
Straightway I bent my foot- steps to this 

cover, 
To 'scape that which I met in yon hot 

lover. 



But how is this ? By thine own sheepish 

looks, 
Methinks thine eyes searched else than 

delves and brooks, 
Else thou perchance had'st seen me sit- 
ting there, 
Where thou dost see my torment droop- 
ing there. 
But come! let's haste away from this 

dark place. 
Ades. What's this, fair lady? I see in 

your face 
That which doth frighten me. 

End. O, it is naught 

Save that all lovers buy that's dearly 

bought, 
In pawn for which they squander life and 

soul 
To bury love at last in a grave-like goal. 
Ades. Oh dear, these loves of yours 

will bury you 
Within your grave ere we have time to 

rue 
Your sad demise. But there! Am I not 

right, 
And have you not this very minute's 

flight 
Cross'd words with your sad lover, who, 

lov'd well, 
Is still repuls'd for being infidel ? 
Now I do have it by your guilty eyes, 
His pensive posture; that to my surmise, 
The broken spirit of a wounded bear, 
As he lies dying in his lonely lair, 
Exemplifi3s the humor of your lord, 
Whose joys now die to requiems of dis- 
cord. 
Now, lady, can you heed to the tirade 
That comes from one— though but your 

serving- maid — 
Who loves you dearly for your beauteous 

self, 
Nor asks a gross return in penury pelf, 
But only what of love you have to give ? 
I'll tell you of a plot; your love may live 
To its fruition's end. What say you to it? 
Would 't please my lady to have us do it? 
Eud. If but to please thyself, why yes 

you may; 
But to please me, I am afraid the day 
Will be long dawning. 

Ades. I pray you say not so. 

Who knows to-day what vane the wind 

will blow 
Upon the morrow, or what near cleared 

sky 
Will burst a cloudless splendor from on 

high. 
Come, now, have better cheer. 

Eud. Well, what's thy plot ? 

Perchance its mood will brighten mine ; 

why not! 



30 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act ii. 



Ades, It will: I know it will else love 
were dead, 

For through this plot you'll have your 
love to bed 

Ere one more setting sun turn down the 
lap 

Of one more faded day. 
Alph. Why such a hap 

Metbinks I could enjoy at such a time. 
Ades. A vaunt, impatience thou! An- 
other time 

Will be too soon for thee, who, when 
thou dost 

Attain thine object's end, I fear will lust 

A sacred right: disgrace thy marriage 
bed. 
End. Come lovers, both; I vow you 
both turn red 

On such a theme. 

Ades. Not I! 

Alph. Nor I! 

Eud. Nor I! 

Who then? Not one of us; O, innocence! 

We all would crave a love, quaff its 
essence, 

And flout its face. But there, let's to our 
plot. 
Ades. Why simply told, the plot is this : 
Methought, 

Perchance — but soft; he may us hear; 
there now — 

That what persuasion, love and friend- 
ship's vow 

Fail utterly to bring, perchance, to force 

By fright, so stubborn-like a will, coerce 

Him from his stubbornness, might be the 
means 

Of bringing out this freak from his ex- 
tremes. 
Alph. But how do this? 'Tis not so 
easy done 

To fright him who so many fights has 
won. 
Ades. Ne'er lived that warrior proned 
with thoughts so bold 

But that a vein of cowardice controll'd, 

Sometime, somewhere, some moments of 
his life, 

That to have fought at such weak times, 
the strife 

Would surely have been lost. Well, now 
mayhap 

We can wield such a fear o'er this mad- 
cap, 

By taking him in dead of night, in sleep, 

When eyes are closed from wary vigil's 
keep, 

To bring unto his half-wak'cl vision's 
gaze 

Great marvellous demons, seething fires 
ablaze, 



Till lo! he think hot hades scorcheth 

him, 
And waking, pray to God to succor him. 
Eud. How now, Adessa, thou art one 

rare bit 
Of concentrated wonder and good wit. 
Thy plot is wisely struck upon, most 

shrewd, 
And may be wielded to its wonted good. 
Now to bethink me of this hermit's place, 
Doth swift recall to me the hermit's face. 
I've heard it said by men who ought to 

know 
That Gershom— so they call him — though 

man's foe, 
Hath strange unearthly power, wielding 

it 
At will and to what purpose he sees fit. 
Indeed, I'll have him at the scene of fun 
To help us win that which is now most 

won. 
Come, we'll to Sebastian's house: there 

rendezvous 
To meet this Gershom and his magic crew, 
And there promote a scheme to win this 

fool 
To a christian's way of thinking by God's 

rule. 

| Exeunt Eudora, Adessa and Alph. 
Enter HUMPHREY and ORESTES from their 
concealment. 
Hum. Curse these long-winded chris- 
tians; 'twere better 
To be hypocrite than have such long foul 

air. 
Orestes, awake yon sleeping dog: Why 

Lo! 
He sits asleep upon the magic rock, 
To sit on which is but to sleep forever, 
Save to be woke by feelings of repug- 
nance 
Wielded o'er the senses by another. 
'Tis so: I'll wield him wakeful wretched- 
ness 
To score accounts with him. He spurns 

i.ie as 
A hypocrite: I him an infidel; 
Now we do meet in this appropriate spot, 
I'll turn the meeting to frustrate the plot 
Whereby this scorpion is to be turned 

christian. 
Orestes, yield him thy quick wakefulness 
By thy wakeful hand; make sure this 

earnest jest, 
Whilst I the temper of my sword do test. 
Ores. I pray you, sir, be cautious — 
Hum. Bah! bah! bah! thou trembling 

sinner thou; 
Look to this hap; that man or either I 
Upon this spot this very night shall die. 
This world has held us twain quite long 

enough: 



Scene i.] 



A (i EM I NY OF VIPERS. 



31 



'Tis much too small to hold such cross- [ 

grain 'd stuff. 
Ores. It is as you do wish, but I would 

stead 
You to a cooler course. 

Hum. Avaunt, I'm dead 

To thy advices. Go wake my adversary. 
I'll put him in a state, indeed, contrary 
To his present plight, or be thus wrought 

myself. 
Go wake my present foe. 

Ores. Ay! ay! but watch thyself ; 

I fear he'll prove a wily adversary. 

[Goes and puts his hand on Roderick, who sud- 
denly awaking, springs to his feet. 
Thy lady-love has left thee in the charge 
Of two rare gentlemen who would enlarge 
Thy views to more sedate reflections. 

Hum. Come! 

Aside, Orestes! Infidel, prepare thee for 

thy death 
Or thy defense ! 

Rod. Methinks cold death's defense, 
Defending my grieved heart from its tor- 
ments 
Is all that's left for me. Defending else, 
Nor hand, nor heart, nor will collude 

their might 
To shield me from cold death in any fight. 
Hum. Would'st stand distraught for 

me to murder thee, 
Thee not to wield thy sword to vanquish 

me? 
Thou art a fool as well as infidel, 
A coward, too, thou art. Prepare! to 

hell 
I'll send thy soul that thou may'st then 

regret 
Thine earthly life, sigh for one drop to 

wet 
Thy parched tongue. 

Rod. Back fiend, foul hypocrite! 

What would'st thou with my life ? 

Hum. I'd have thy life 

To still thy caviling tongue, whose lash- 
ings pour'd 
But now into mine angry patient ears 
Thy hate, thy fate; for see, in Vishnu 

mood, 
I will defend mine honor and my blood. 
AW. Now heart, leap not from out thy 

narrow bounds 
At this outrageous insult. Thou hypo- 
crite; thou eaves-dropper, 
Thou insidious, feline cur; I'll fight thee 

for this fault; 
Else otherwise these hands of mine were 

free 
From thy rank blood. Look to thy fate, 

thou traitor, 
For when Roderick unsheathes his sword 

from off 



His broad ensiferous loins, a death is nigh, 
A death that's not his own, but that near 

by. 

Come, thou in Vishnu, I in Siva mood. 
Will battle each, my god to make thine 

brood. 

[ They draw and prepare to fight. 
Ores. Soft, some one approaches! 

En(er Gershom. 
Ger. Stay ! who would so 

Trespass upon my premises to foe 
Against each other. By God's love! Two 

vipers drawn, 
Wild-eyed, aghast, like bullocks in a 

bawn 
To end two vipers' lives. By Lucifer's 

descent, 
Though it were meet to let such snakes 

be slain, 
It were not meet to let the vipers twain 
Die on my sacred privileges. Ho, fools! 
I know ye both, and had I but to spit 
By proffer'd choice to spit on one of ye, 
I'd know not which to spit upon, else be 
My heart misgave me that I spat not well 
For leaving one unspat upon. O hell! 
When did thy gates ny ope that two such 

frauds 
Escaped thy bourn ? Earth now thy luck 

applauds 
In being rid of these, but would remise 
Thy gift again to thee, for this disguise 
Suits not this beauteous world! You vi- 
pers you, 
One with your eyes asquint to trace the 

world 
Of her renown'd inhabitants, the other 
Posing as a god, nor neither worth 
The water of a toad, but that to cause 
Eruptions on the earth for goodly men 
To mourn the presence of, let fall thy 

swords; 
Begone base wretches both and get thee 

hence, 
Lest I do call my imps to my defense! 
Rod. Thou wicked wizard, fain would 

I cope with thee, 
Had'st thou not evil power with which to 

see 
Through premonition's eye the deeds of 

men. 
Ger. Ay! see them ere they spring 

from out their ken, 
The which in thy head finds its basest 

base, 
Breeding act to humanity's disgrace. 
Rod. Silence, witch! 'Tis thine old 

dotage saves thee, 
And not that vested in thy haunted soul. 
Ger. Yet 'neath this scorned power 

wilt thou soon 



32 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act hi. 



Fall cringing at my feet in death's cold 
swoon. 
Rod. I fear thee not! away! 
[ 7o Hum.} 'Tis well for thee that this in- 
trusion came, 
Else ere this time thy life had ceased to 

shame 
The lives of worthier men. 

Hum. Beware thy life ; 

I'll have it out with thee in later strife. 
Ger. Beware you both, I'll smite you 
both with death, 
Ere thou hast time to catch a last bare 
breath . [ Exit Roderick. 

Hum. Come, friend Orestes, let's from 
this sorcerer's grot 
To good Sebastian's, aid them in their 
plot. 
Ores. Ay! ay! and to advantage by it, 

too. 
Hum. To an infidel's sure misery, a 
christian's due. 

[Exeunt Humphrey and Orestes. 
Ger. Now there be something in this 
scheming twain : 
I would now I had let them their bones 

slain. 
But soft, another comes. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. Is thy name Gershom ? 
Ger. I'm called that, 

man, 
Though I've another name not known to 

man. 
What would you have with me ? 
Mess. My "master bids thee haste to 

him. 
Ger. Who and where is your master? 
Mess. My master is Lord Sebastian : he 
now is at my master's house. 

Ger. Dost know the import of your 

swift dispatch ? 
Mess. Naught but that 'tis of much 

consequence. 
Ger. Well, Gershom is much sought 
for, much retained, 
Nor ne'er hath he a summons yet dis- 
dained. 
Speed thou back to thy master, say to 

him, 
'Twill give me pleasure to confer with 
him. [Exit messenger. 

There, I must haste. What! I myself in 

plot? 
Soft; if I am, there's some will wish I'm 
not. {Exit, 

ACT III. 

SCENE I. Room in Sebastian's house. 

Enter SEBASTIAN, ALPHONSO, ANTONIA, 

EUDORA, ADESSA and attendants. 



Eud. How slow and tedious do these 
moments drag; 
How creepingly these snails on missions 

lag! 
Methinks did all the pleasures of this life 
Last half as long as moments of such 

strife, 
And they in their prolongings take joy's 

wings 
To waft a soul beyond their borderings, 
Life had been better guaged. 

,5. has Yet patience is the name 

Of him who can so patiently acclaim 
At all times, light or dark, as they do fall 
To temporal man, a cheerful mood 

through all. 
Whence comes the virtue patience but to 

cheer, 
When circumstance yields naught save 
that that's drear ? 
Eud. But patience hath but little power 
to quell 
My present agitation. 

Ant. O! I can tell; 

Ay mine, a mother's heart can tell what 

thine, 
A lover's feels. Ne'er did a moment line 
Himself to such an unproportioned 

length ; 
Nor ne'er did I feel such a need for 

strength 
To stay me through these dragging mo- 
ments drawn, 
Until that knave return with old Ger- 
shom. 
Eud. Methinks we all are with impa- 
tience tried. 
Alph. Had I the knave I'd stretch his 

dronish stride. 
Sebas. Perchance to talk of other things 
will serve 
Our patience to support, our hearts to 

nerve 
To do what is to do this very night. 
Alph. Myself, I had as lief to wait till 

light. 
Ades. What, art afraid 'f this Hermit 

and his imps ? 
Alph. Ay, more than I'm afraid to tell 

you it. 
Ades. Well, I'll you this: thou coward, 
you'll rue it. 
Nor ne'er wilt thou get me, for being 
'fraid. 
Alph. Then thou wilt always be a wait- 
ting-maid. 
Ades. Which I will be before I be the 
mate 
To one who carries such a coward's pate. 
Eud. This maid of mine is chipper at 
all times; 



Scene i.] 



A G EMI NY OF YIPEFS. 



33 



Would I had her light heart, her laugh- 
ter's chimes. 
Sebas. 'Tis to be hoped and prayed that 
we're as gay 

This time to-morrow, as we're sad to- 
day. 

Enter HUMPHREY and ORESTES. 

How now, good Humphrey, thou back 

here so soon? 
I did not thee expect to see till noon 
Upon the morrow. How 'rt thou, Orestes? 
Ores. Resting well, my lord; our God 

has blest us. 
Sebas. How blest ? 

Ores. By speeding us to thee to aid thee 
in thy plot. By His dear guidance, we 
met thy messenger: learned from him 
what in the wind was brewing, gave heed 
to our two selves, one to another, in brief 
consultation, actuated by which, to final 
conclusion drew, that it would not ap- 
pear unseemly in the act, decided there- 
fore ourselves accordingly and posted us 
to thee to see the fun and aid in its pro- 
motion. 

Sebas. Thou'rt welcome both; I give it 
thee, spiced to thy palate's taste, with my 
profoundest gratitude. But art thou not 
unusually pale, Humphrey ? 

Hum. A little incident occurred upon 

our way, 
Which might have ended in a bloody fray ; 
'Tis this, my lord, to think what might 

have been 
That makes me pale; 'tis naught. What's 

to begin? 
Sebas. Naught but to wait till Gershom 

come to us; 
For we rest on his skill to succor us. 
Ant. And thy skill, too, Sir Humphrey, 

believe thou me, 
I know thou art most cunning in thy 

thoughts, 
As thou art cunning in thy thought's re- 
sults. 
Thy mind elastic, thy two hands are true 
To thine elastic brain; for what they do. 
Is not what they, but what thy will doth 

do. 
Thy hands subservient to thy strong- set 

will, 
Thy will subservient to that greater will 
Whence thou derivest thy Tyr-tireless 

strength, 
Thy hands their cunning, and thy head 

its length. 
Alph. [Aside] A devil's dowry is such 

vermin's wealth, 
For thence come his great cunning and 

his stealth. 
I'll watch Sir Loptur with his artful 

smile, 



I warrant he is here to play his guile. 
Enter Messenger. 
Sebas. What, knave ! thou odious pot- 

terer: why dost 
Thou tarry so on this important trust ? 
Where's he for whom thou wert in haste 

dispatched ? 
Mess. I left him, master, with his own- 
self matched, 
Nor ne'er could such another match be 

found 
In one lone man that treads the mother 

ground. 
End. Think'st thou he hath the wis- 
dom, mother wit 
To aid us in this plot, in urging it ? 

Mess. My lady, he's all wisdom and all 

wit, 
A dark magician whose weird wand can 

flit 
Before the gaze a thousand devil's imps, 
That revel in the air like lank-legg'd 

shrimps. 
Sebas. But what said he toward coming, 

man? 
Mess. Quoth he: 

' Speed thou back to thy master, say to 

him, 
'Twill give me pleasure to confer with 

him.' 

Enter GERSHOM. 
Ger. Thou art precise in memory and 

speech. 
But how much later have I been to reach 
This late-wrought schemer's domicile 

than thee ? 
Mess. I have but come: belike you 

crowded me, 
My very tracks thine for thine own fit 

use, 
Befitting thy fleet foot, nor tight, nor 

loose, 
To urge thee ever to a swifter gait, 
To haste thee here with me, like mate 

and mate. 
Ger. A pretty mate, thoa fool, for one 

like me 
Who holds domain o'er earth and o'er 

the sea, 
Who can, if willed, transform thee to a 

sheep, 
Or close thine eyes forever in deep 

sleep ; 
Set thee astride the mongrel-fashioned 

steed, 
Or turn thee to a hungry swine; to feed 
Upon thy swine-coarse potale to grow 

fat, 
Or change thee to a frightful mewing cat. 
End. Hast thou indeed such marvel- 
lous power as this ? 



34 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act hi 



Does not repute speak thy strange deeds 

amiss ? 
Ger. My lady, thou wert better an- 
swered not 
In words that savor of my magic grot. 
Let that done in thy service soon disclose 
To thee and to thy friends what Gershom 

knows 
Of the black and necromantic art and 

power, 
Before which man and beast alike do 

cower. 
Sebas. 'Tis well, Gershom, we'll test 

thee of thy art, 
And if thou hast ability to impart 
What wisdom thou possessest to this 

venture, 
Thy presence here will rest beyond our 

censure. 
Gcr. Thy needs will be attended with 

painstaking, 
For I surmise 'tis a goodly undertaking. 
Ant. Is't good to slay the wolf to save 

the fawn 
That capers lightly o'er the terraced 

lawn? 
Or pluck with rough and indurated grasp 
The babe from out the tainted mother's 

clasp ? 
These things, O hermit, thou wilt say are 

good, 
As this that gives joy to chaste mother- 
hood. 
All things are good that hath a goodly 

end, 
No matter what the deeds be that portend 
To its accomplishment. 

Ger. Thou art not wrong 

In these thy spoken views. The siren's 

song 
Heard floating on the still and calm-lit 

night, 
Enthralls the sense in rapture and de- 
light, 
Drives dull care thence to parts beyond 

our reach, 
Presents new bliss to us that doth us 

teach 
What 'tis to love; alas! to love in vain. 
O siren's song, from thee there's naught 

to gain 
Save that the heart, the soul, the life 

must hate, 
Save that which ne'er its ardor doth 

abate. 
Yes, yes, my lady, thou should'st have 

recourse 
To any means a purposed end to force. 
'Tis right if intent point to goodly end, 
'Tis right if mother's joys are to defend, 
Pure motherhood, its noble life uphold: 



Then falter not, thy purpose make more 

bold. 
Ant. Ay, this I'll brace myself in all to 

do, 
Since justice crowns the deed to purposed 

good. 
O sir, my heart has been most sorely 

grieved, 
And I have found small joys in my past 

life 
Through all its tedious hours of day or 

night. 
Yea, nights to me have been mere night- 
less days, 
Days brightless with the nights of waking 

sadness; 
My days but dayless nights, as dark and 

drear 
As the darkest of dark nights, for aught 

of cheer 
The heavenly sun has given me; and all 

because 
My own of flesh and blood, God pity him, 
Is shrouded in such madness. 
Sebas. Come, sweet Antonia, court thou 

a holier hope, 
And rest thou in its friendly fold, we will 

have cause 
To don a cheerrier garb upon the morrow. 
Come now, let's first stead hope by prac- 
ticing 
Our wits upon the furtherance of our 

scheme. 
Gershom, thou know'st, I believe, I have 

a son named Roderick ? 
Ger. Ay, my lord. 

Sebas. Who pleaseth a perverse mood 
To be an infidel. 

Ger. Ay, my lord. 

Sebas. To the sorrow 

Of his parents and his friends. 
Gcr. I see it now about me. 

Sebas. Well now, it has been thought 

upon 
And purposed, too, to force this dolt, by 

some means 
Yet unhit upon save vaguely, to become 

a christian 
With his parents and his friends. 
Canst thou help us in the undertaking ? 
Ger. Soft now awhile, my copious 

thought needs here 
A moment for reflection. This is an 
Enterprise as intricate as 'tis good. 
Hum. [To Orestes] Orestes, mark the 

hermit well, 
For he regards us with mistrustful eyes, 
And if the chance to nip us in our own 

designs 
But come, he'll do it. Let fall, therefore, 

no hint 



Scene i.] 



A GEMINY OF VIP BBS. 



To give him this advantage o'er our 
presence here. 
Ores. Of his least move I will be close 
observer. Look, even now he moves to 
speak. 

Ger. 'Tis done: this Roderick is al- 
ready christian turned. 
Sebas. Impossible ; this is no jest, speak 
not in riddles to our anxious ears which 
starve for something more definite than 
innuendoes. 

Ger. When Gershom opes his lips to 
speak, he speaks, 
And when speech issues from his opened 

lips, 
'Tis words which sparkle with a wit and 

sense 
Of that discoursed. Well, so I will speak 

now, 
And what the language of my lips may be 
Catch thou it to thy hearts as gentle truth, 
To gently nourish there renewed hope, 
That he whom you so love but not revere 
Will, ere another sun, be christianized, 
Revered by all and by all highly prized. 

Eud. We do in interest grow; pray 
haste to thy mysterious direction ; I am 
a-tremble with mine eagerness. 

Ger-. Thou hast a noble love, my lady 
dear, 
That causeth thee thy trembling and thy 

fear; 
But on the morrow thy love will requite 
A love as noble as thine is tonight. 

Eud. I trust thee, Gershom, and I 

honor thee, 

O, pray thee haste and win my love to me. 

Ger. Now, ne'er did Gershom have so 

sweet a task 

As this that thou dost of him sweetly ask. 

I'll crown all past attempts in this great 

deed. 
Have I, my lord, thy sanction to proceed? 
Scbas. I am as anxious as Eudora is. 
Ger. And thou my Lady Antonia ? 
Ant. My answer is my lord's. 
Ger. Then all are anxious for this one 
event, 
Yet none more so than I myself am bent 
To cope the evils that have ye aroused 
To these marks of concern: misfortune 

housed 

Within thy noble gates. What's th' hour, 

my lord ? 

Sebas. The clock even now chimes 

twelve. [Clock strikes, 

Ger. A funeral knell 

Proclaiming death to low laments that 

dwell 
Now in thy souls. List to this ringing 
doom! 



Its dying echoes toll woes to their tomb, 
Make beauteous once again this dismal 

earth 
By resurrection of dead joy and mirth. 
Almost appropriate hour, my lord, is this 
To wield thy son this metamorphosis; 
An hour, which, at dead and hush of 

night, 
Dooms day to death, gives birth to day 

and light. 
But say, has thy son yet retired, my lord? 
Sebas. The hour of ten saw him well 

lodg'd and feathered. 
Ger. So: this were good. We'll soon 
have him well tethered 
In the meshes of our dark authority. 
Hast access to his chamber ? 

Sebas. Now that we 

Must ascertain. Perchance some mood 

of his 
Hath locked us out. His idiosyncracies 
Do sometimes prompt him to exclude 

himself 
Away from every one save from himself, 
And keep him thus until some happier 

humor 
Doth release him. 

Ger. Art sure no artful rumor 

Hath apprised him of thy plans ? 

Sebas. Why no ; 

Unless the winds have whispered what 

we know, 
No traitor would betray us in this deed. 
Hum. [Aside] How his hawk's eyes 
upon my face do feed; 
I must with wary hand beguile his wits, 
Ere he upon my own dark purpose hits. 
Ger. 'Tis well, withal, to be upon our 
guard — 
But there, let's haste, no longer to retard 
The progress of a plot that must needs win 
A fool from infidelity, a soul from sin. 
Now gather close and pay as close a heed, 
Whilst I give brief direction for thy need. 
I have a potion which when so applied, 
Wafts him, my victim, to deep sleep, 

dream- eyed 
To lie in comatose to suit my will 
In all like death, yet never doth it kill. 
My plan is this: to thus annul his sense, 
Whilst I command my imps to bear him 

thence 
To my abode high in my mountain grot; 
For these familiar walls perchance will 

not 
Tend toward deception's aid in wheed- 
ling him 
To that complete deception my cave dim 
Is sure to guile him with. Alphonso thou, 
Haste thee along to guide the footsteps 
now 



36 



A G EMI NY OF VIPERS. 



[Act hi. 



Of these thy followers to the mountain's 
brow. 

Have naught of fear for Gershom will be 
there 

Ere thou hast climbed one-half of na- 
ture's stair. 

Be cautious all for there be lurking steeps 

That may precipitate ye to dark un- 
fathomable deeps. 
End. Ay, ay, Alphonso, haste thee, 
lead the way, 

This deed to accomplish ere the dawn of 
day. 

[Exeunt all but Sebastian, Gershom, Humphrey 
and Orestes. 
Ger. My Lord Sebastian, pray thee 
come with me, 

Search thy house well, get thou the right- 
ful key 

To ope the door, beyond whose present 
bar 

Thy son secure doth sleep, from us as far 

As though he slept on Neptune's distant 
breast, 

Higher a million times than great Olym- 
pus' crest. 
Sebas. Why tarriest thou, Sir Hum- 
phrey, why not go 

To bear the other's company ? Why so 
slow ? 
Hum. I did but wait a word of Ger- 
shom's cheer; 

My modesty forbids infringing here. 
Sebas. Gershom, bid them depart, if it 
thee please, 

Whilst I go fetch my ring of household 
keys. [Exit Sebastian. 

Ger. O modest spirit thou, whence 
comest thy shame 

To so beguile thyself, thyself defame, 

Defaming modesty in thee to dwell. 

This is my cheer: thou'rt welcome to my 
hell! [E tit Gershom. 

Hum. Hear'st thou that, Orestes, the 
fiend is a wicked sorcerer. 

But haste, these moments are as drops of 
crimson blood 

When blood itself, has almost ceased to 
flow, 

For very rarity of the precious stuff. 

Hast thou a dagger keen, unsheath it 
quick. 

Ere this damned fiend to his drowsed vic- 
tim nears, 

This dagger will have stretch'd the vic- 
tim's years 

Into eternity and eternal woe. 

Orestes, quick; the dagger, let me go — 

I know a secret passage to this room : 

I'll use it now to haste impending doom. 

Orestes heed, wait for me down beneath, 



And when 'tis done I'll drop thee on the 

heath 
The bloody thing; make way with it at 

once, 
For it must not remain with us, to dunce 
Wise deed to an unsystematic end. 
Haste thee below whilst I above defend 
The cause that brought us both so quickly 

here: 
Be brave Orestes, thou hast naught to 

fear; 
But me, think thou of me. OGod! O God! 
Preserve my strength, my motive justly 

laud! 

[Exeunt Humphrey and Orestes separately. 



SCENE II. Bed Chamber of Roderick Showing 
its Interior and Exterior Vieivs. Roderick 

Lying Asleep upon his Bed Within. 
Enter HUMPHREY by Private Approach to 

Chamber. 
Hum. Now Humphrey thou art here 

use well thy time, 
Have done the deed ere thou art caught 

in crime. 
But what a darksome place— yet dark- 
ness will 
Abet a deed whose import is to kill. 
Fie! fie! unhappy wretch, why tremble 

so 
To stab one who is thine own mortal foe, 
Who stands in way of thy deep coveted 

wealth ? 
O hand be brave, dispatch with native 

stealth 
An act whereby thou wilt reap rich re- 
ward 
In double yield of purse: thy nephew 

lord 
And happy spouse to sweet Eudora's will; 
Speed speed, this hindrance thou must 

surely kill 
To save thyself and nephew from dis- 
grace, 
Though it imprint woe on thy haunt-writ 

face! 
Why, is this sleep that holds my victim 

bound ? 
'Tis more like death itself, this posture, 

mound. 
Well then, 'twere such a small thing to 

imbed 
This dagger in that now already dead. 
There, there, what dead can breathe this 

living breath ? 
Deceived illusion, thou deny'st kind 

death ; 
Deny'st my freedom from a murderer's 

taunts ; 
Deny'st my soul's redemption from hell's 

haunts. 



Scene ii.] 



A GEMINY OF VfPERS. 



:;: 



God I strike, O God strike Thou not me 
For striking him that will set me free, 

free 
From earthly woes; that will raise 

heavenly hope. 
Curse this dark place, mine eyes grow 

dim, I grope 
As in a blindness bound, yet open-eyed, 
My sight doth mock my vision to deride. 

1 cannot do this thing but yet I must: 
Why fool, why standest thou back on one 

poor thrust 

That will in all put death where now 
there's life, 

Put peace in thee where now there's 
hellish strife! 

Can I call God to witness this foul deed ? 

Fool, fool, God's eye, incessant in its 
heed, 

Looks down upon thy head, thy quiver- 
ing hand, 

Spurns thee with scorn and silent repri- 
mand; 

Thy weakness sneers, thy cowardice 
contemns: 

Kill, kill thy victim ere He thee con- 
demns! 
[Approaches the bed and hovers over it, raises 

his hand to strike, yet in an uncertain attitude, 

still hesitates. ] 

Enter SEBASTIAN and GERSHOM on exterior 
side of chamber. 
Sebas. Quick Gershom and be soft, in- 
sert the key; 
Unbar the way to our hope's victory. 
Ger. The key doth fit its native hiding 
place 
As snugly as thy son lies in disgrace ; 
The bolt doth yield before its gentle touch 
Even as he will yield to my hand's magic 
touch. 
Sebas. Then push it with thy magic 
hand ajar; 
Why tarriest thou the door to thus unbar? 
Ger. For thee, Sebastian, who must 
now depart; 
I'd be alone in my specific art. 
The presence of another might dispel 
The magic of my wand. Haste to my 

hell 
That is to be thy son's ere dawn of day, 
For his deliverance to his great dismay. 
Sebas. Is this enfore'd in interest to the 

deed ? 
Ger. It is, my lord, else I'd not have 

thee speed. 
Sebas. Well then, I'll go to be thy bet- 
ter aid. 
Ger. 'Twill aid me better than if thou 
had'st staid. [Exit Sebastian. 



Now Gershom, concentrate thy force to 
work ; 

Thy duteous subjects let no duty shirk. 

Ope thou the door: behold him victim- 
iz'd — 
[ T/iro-cs open the door, glides hastily and noise- 
lessly in the chamber, and sees Humphrey in the 

act of stabbing Roderick. ] 

Damned fiend! Back! Back! Thou treach- 
erous snake despis'd! 

Darest thy ban'd fang hiss forth a viper's 
hate, 

Thy serpent's eye charm to a dreadful 
fate, 

With but an aim to murder as enthrall'd, 

The object of my kinder aims forestall'd? 

Fiends, furies, sieze the murderous hyp- 
ocrite ! 

Enter PlKE, PEAK rtWPOKE, with numerous 
other imps who surround HUMPHREY. 

Bear him away to the darkness of my pit, 

Consign him to its torments till it please 

My heart his soul from torment to ap- 
pease. 

[Some lead him away, some remain. 
Hum. Thou curs'd magician ill will it 
serve thy boon 

To turn a Humphrey into a graceless 
loon. {Exit, guarded by imps. 

Ger. To turn a snake into a harmless 
toad, 

Save him defenseless from thy envious 
goad. 

O God! How canst Thou from Thy virtu- 
ous place 

Look down upon such fiends in their dis- 
grace ; 

Refusing discipline to overthrow 

These studied evils of man's direst foe! 

O Thou wise King, in pity art Thou wise, 

Earth's Benefactor dwells beyond the 
skies, 

Unseen, to guage men's deeds, what they 
may be, 

His censure slow, man's meed eternity. 

If I were God, had God's infinitude, 

Yet still myself, as He hath me imbued 

With human passions, having such a 
power, 

Methinks my passions would surmount 
the tower 

Of my endow'd infinitude. From high 

I'd bolt destruction to this hateful spy, 

Though all the thunders of broad heaven's 
reserve 

Were called to kill, I'd ne'er my purpose 
swerve. 

O God, when I do give my thoughts to 
Thee, 

Thy greatness, matchless strength, divin- 
ity} 



38 



A GEMINY OF VI PEL'S. 



[Act hi. 



Thy incomparable chastity, Thy might, 
How dwarf'd do I appear in my own 

bight! 
But then, whilst I have power to wield a 

cause, 
It is not meet to hesitate, to pause, 
When others so depend upon my skill 
To aid them in their griefs, their troubles 

kill. 
Come, come Gershom, where is thy 

wonted might? 
Hast thou grown vapid ? Art thou weak 

to-night ? 
No, no, as thou hast this foul murderer 

doomed, 
So wilt thou see him almost murdered, 

groomed 
To her whose virtue is as God's own 

light, 
The happy bride to him whoso present 

plight 
Degradeth her to harbor such a love, 
So like a lion courted by a dove, 
But who by virtue of this night's great 

deed* 
Will give unto Eudora her just meed, 
Requiting as requited, loving loved, 
Lo! two, yet one, two doves though 

singly doved. 
Come imps, prepare, this burden to trans- 
port 
Beyond these limits hence to our resort. 
Soft, let this potion waft him to deep 

sleep, 
Lest intimation of the act do creep 
Into his half- waked brain to thus dispel 
Poor nature's trance in which he now 

doth dwell. 
There, bear him hence to our dark moun- 
tain grot, 
Nor stop till thou hast reached the magic 

spot 
Where magic reigns on earth, in sky, in 

air, 
Striking dismay to them that tarry there. 
Away, away, thy nimble limbs to stride 
A lightsome gait far up the mountain side : 
Repose thy burden when thou readiest it, 
Upon my downy coach, there let him sit; 
For to lie down constraineth any sight, 
And I'd have him see all to see to-night. 
[Exeunt imp; bearing Roderick away. 
'Tis well O Gershom, thou art ever great, 
Thy passions staid, ambitions satiate. 
Fly fly thou home, a victory yet to gain, 
Disdaining this as thou wilt that disdain. 
{BxU. 

SCENE III. 4 Mountain Gorge. 
Enter ALPHONSO and Attendants followed by 

Eudora, Antonia and Adessa, with 
guards, etc. 



Ant. O dear, my o'er-strain'd limbs, 
long past endure 
Refuse their functions. I must here 

immure 
Myself, my wearied self, and pause to 

rest 
To stay exhaustion that hath me op- 

press'd. 
Why nature has embastion'd her rude 

hills, 
Bisecting chasms with her rippling rills 
In this impassable manner, I am dumb 
For want of explanation, lest 'tis to numb 
My poor tired limbs for plodding, strain- 
ing so, 
'Gainst their own inclination ever slow, 
'Gainst this incline of mountain-graded 

steeps, 
'Gainst pitching down far into mountain- 
ous deeps. 
My years have made me dotish and in- 
firm, 
My sorrows do infirmity confirm; 
The sorrow that impell'd me out to-night 
Comfirms infirmity and in such a might, 
That I, o'er-come, succumb beneath its 

weight: 
Friends, tarry here, my strength to re- 
instate. 
Alph. God save me from another such 
a night; 
I would to God it were now broad day- 
light, 
Ades. And I would have another 
braver guide 
Than thee, thou coward in a coward's 
hide. 
Alph. Thou art affright thyself, thou 
know'st thou art, 
Else why look wildly round and often 

start 
As though some wicked spirit haunted 

thee, 
Compelling yet constraining thee to flee? 
Now as for I, myself, as I'm a knave, 
I wonder at myself for being brave 
Sufficiently to say that I'm affright, 
Sufficiently to come out in this night, 
This mountain gorge, this hideous, howl- 
ing place. 
There, there, thou art affright: 'tis no 

disgrace 
If thou art truly so to say thou art, 
But 'tis disgrace to fear, deny the part 
With trembling ashen lips, with sinking 

soul, 
That doth evince thy fear, defy control. 
Ades. My lips a'tremble, my lips ashen 
white, 
My soul a'sinking, and on such a night! 
Bah! bah! This moonlight would allay 
my fear. 



Scene hi.] 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



39 



If fear I had, which I have not, my dear. 
Alph. Why, by my love, this "dear" is 

first I've heard 
Thee utter since thou hast on me con- 
ferred 
Thy golden heart with all its golden 

worth, 
Nor gentle words, nor fond, in love nor 

mirth 
Hast thou addressed me till this very 

night, 
Till now, this moment. Oh, thou art 

affright, 
Else why shoulds't thou now humbled 

call me dear, 
When thou at other times offend mine 

ear 
With coarser epithet ? Why then thou'rt 

free 
From fear. O woman thou, I now have 

thee 
Where every woman once has stood at 

bay, 
Defeated, wroth, chagrin'd, lost in dis- 
may 
At being read aright by her right lord, 
Sham'd for her fickleness, acts unto- 
ward. 
End. Come, come, cross'd lovers, stop 

thy tongues' wild pace. 
To indulge light moods at such a time 

and place 
Is not discreet when other moods oppose. 
What, ho! attendants, what's the stir? 

Who goes? 
Alt. Soft, hark! faint voices on the 

nether air 
Come floating to my fright- wrought, 

sensitive ear 
From spectral depths below; my heart 

appalls 
To list to sounds from nature's haunted 

halls. 
End. Then thou'rt unfit to guard the 

life of one 
Who scorns such fear, or any 'neath the 

sun. 
Att. Ay, lady, but— but this is 'neath 

the moon, 
Whose shadows turn brave man to gib- 
berish loon. 
End. Why, then, I'll say beneath the 

termagant sky; 
Why need of fear as long as God's on 

high, 
With care directed to his subjects all ? 
Fool, fool; thy faith, thy trust in God is 

small. 
See else yourself, there is no cause for 

fear; 
For these faint, distant voices that you 

hear 



Come only from Sebastian and his 

friends, 
Whom God, perchance, in our extremity, 

sends 
To our assistance. Come, Antonia, dear, 
Arise to greet thy lord approaching near; 
Let his strong arm supply thy need to 

thee, 
Supporting that no other arms are free 
To ramble o'er. 

Enter SEBASTIAN, LUBIN and THEOPHI- 
LUS. 
Alph. Hail, Lord Sebastian, hail! 
Hail thou good Lubin and Theophilus, 

hail! 
Thy presence here doth serve my soul to 

ease 
From foolish fright that now my soul 

doth tease. 
Seb. Why tarry'st thou? 
Alph. To let thy wife have rest; 

Long ere this stop she had o'er-taxedher 

best. 
Sebas. What thou, Antonia ? God for- 
give the vein 
Subjecting thee to this unnatural strain. 
Ant. There, there! Could any wife and 

mother true 
Remain behind when such work is in 

view ? 
Sebas. Ay! thou art true as thou wert 

truly won; 
O, would I had as true and good a son 
As thou art wife— had I but that as this, 
Indeed would bliss be crown'd with sweet- 
est bliss. 
Ant. And would a mother's love be 

crowned with love, 
A father's pride with pride. O, God 

above; 
Hast Thou an ear to give unto the griev'd, 
An eye to note th' afflicted and bereav'd, 
A heart to pity them in sore distress, 
A hand to help, to strengthen, and caress? 
Lend Thy kind heed to this griev'd couple 

now; 
Let kindly looks arch kindness in Thy 

brow; 
Let pitying heart unfold her priceless 

hoard; 
Let hand outstretch to bless new joys 

restor'd. 
End. O, good Antonia, what a heart 

thou hast, 
That, first in sorrow, thou should'st be 

the last 
To censure Heaven but to give Him 

praise : 
We all were better had we thy just ways. 
Ant. Thou art thyself as good as I dare 

be, 
For thy benevolence and thy chastity. 



10 



.4 GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act hi. 



Sebas. Thou'rt both like two white daz- 
zling flakes of snow, 

That for thy goodness 'twould be hard to 
know 

Which is Eudora's, which Antonia's place, 

But for dissimilitude of form and face. 

But there, had we not best resume our 
way ? 

I note a glim in the east that heralds day. 

This Gershom will, I fear, dislike ap- 
proach 

That on his patience doth so much en- 
croach. 

How now Eudora, do I note thy gaze 

Of deep surprise, of justly-wrought 
amaze, 

Directed on Theophilns, Lubin, here? 

I should ere now have explained their 
presence here. 

'Tis simply this: when I did leave my 
house, 

All in a fever to o'er-take my spouse 

With her accompanying train, and pity- 
ing friends, 

Who should I hap upon but these two 
friends, 

Who, you all know, are friends to him, 
likewise, 

That causeth all our discommodities. 

Well, when I told them of our wild affair, 

They pled to come along— so here they 
are. 
Ant. Thou'rt welcome both, good 
friends, to our adventure. 

The more because you join us in our 
censure, 

Yet in our love for my per versed son. 
Iheo. We thank thee, lady, for we love 

thy son. 
Lub. And 'tis our love that prompted 
us to come 

To aid in his conversion, turn him from 

His dark, oblivious course. 
Ant. O, you are kind! 

Two such true friends, we search long ere 
we find. 

My lord, methinks now with thy strong 
support, 

I can resume my way. We must report 

To Gershom ere the sun his vision peeps, 

Above horizon's ragged line of steeps, 

Lest his bright eye the hermit's pow'r 
dispel, 

His imps abash, destroy his frightful hell. 
Sedas. Ay! ay! let's haste ourselves — 

Enter ORESTES hastily. 
Oies. Friends, pardon me! 

But is my friend, Sir Humphrey, not 

with ye, 
Nor been with ye within the hour agone ? 
Sedas. Why, no, Orestes. 



Ores. He left me on the lawn 

To wait his pleasure from your house. 

'Tis strange, 
I ne'er did see him leave the place. 

More strange, 
For I did search for him; more stranger 

still, 
For ne'er could I espy a frieze or frill 
Of Humphrey's absent self. I fear me 

much 
He's fallen in this cursed hermit's clutch. 
Sebas. Why this, indeed, is strange 

whose strangeness is 
To me as strange as any stranger is 
To strangest strangenesses. Art sure you 

search'd 
In every nook, high, low, smirch'd and 

unsmirch'd? 
'Tis much too strange for me to soon be- 
lieve 
That Humphrey would our trusting 

hearts deceive. 
Ores. I left your house as silent as the 

tomb, 
Nor no one place more silent than the 

room 
Sir Humphrey was last seen within. 

Ant. My lord, 

Dost thou forget that 'quester'd stretch 

of sward, 
Whose foliaged arbors well might screen 

a man 
From Io's argus-watcher, Juno's scan? 
Why, then, could not Sir Humphrey have 

escap'd 
These lesser watchful eyes that are not 

shaped 
With lens so piercing as great Juno's 

eyes, 
Which could, themselves not pierce 

through this disguise ? 
Sebas. Why even so, Orestes, thou'rt 

illus'd, 
Or, if not this, say thou wert so enthus'd 
With thoughts of our anticipated freak, 
That thou grewest weary and thine eyes 

grew weak 
With drowsiness. Say that, perchance, 

you slept, 
And whilst you slept Sir Humphrey past 

you crept. 
Say anything, Orestes, sad or glad, 
Save that Sir Humphrey is so monstrous 

bad 
He'd do aught wrong to loving, trusting 

friends ; 
But rather naught save that from which 

depends 
That strongest friendship's sponsor of 

good will, 
Without which sponsor friends would 
soon friends kill, 



Scene iv.] 



A G EMI NY OF VIPERS. 



41 



Soon murder all great ties which bind 

great souls, 
And friendship's love and all that love 

controls. 
I'll warrant now Sir Humphrey has long 

since 
Reached Gershom's dark abode and his 

dark imps.' 
Come let us haste, his patience not to tire, 
Lest we ourselves incur great Gershom's 

ire. 
Ores. It may be so, my lord, or so I'll 

say, 
With your permission may I lead the 

way? 
These hills are to my feet like velvet 

stairs, 
So easy of ascent are they and theirs. 
Their widest fissures I do span with ease, 
So come my friends, I'll guide ye, ye to 

please. 
Sebas. Thou could'st not please us with 

a welcomer word; 
On, on, Orestes! this waste is absurd. 
Friends get you gone ; away, away with 

ye! 
Come sweet Antonia, rest thyself on me. 
Thus do you give my life its chiefest joy, 
To counteract the pain caused by our boy. 
Thus go we to this grot in hope and fear; 
God grant we may return in hope and 

cheer. 

[Exeunt, Sebastian supporting Antonia. 



SCENE IV. Gershom's Grot. 
Enter GERSHOM in State with Train of Attend- 
ing Imps. 

Ger. Are all things ready ? 
Imps. Ay, my lord! 

Ger. Then heed; 

Stand well thy guard. Let not our pris- 
oners feed 
Upon the ravenous thought of how to 

'scape, 
And feeding well, digest the thought to 

shape 
Digestion's organs, to its freedom find 
Aperture, small or large, or any kind 
Through which to strain their offal bodies 

out. 
Be cautious, true, let there remain no 

doubt 
As to the sound security of the chain 
Which menacles hand and foot 'gainst 

ambitious brain 
To be at liberty set. Stay! when I sound 
The signal word, bring him whom sleep 

hath bound 
Forth from his loathsome cell my wrath 

to meet; 



Do all this well: be punctual, wise, dis- 
creet. 

Some ready be to welcome them we 
expect, 

Lest they conclude their presence we re- 
ject; 

And when they arrive upon the grot's 
terrene 

Place them where they can see, them- 
selves unseen. 

Guard their demeanor from rash over- 
tures, 

Lest they force arms to peri-curvatures; 

And place constraint o'er undue haste 
and din 

Of chattering that their tongues might 
revel in. 

Preceed this by example set thyselves: 

Be ye thus sage and mute like dumb- 
mouth'd elves. 

Be also mild and courteous, do not flaunt, 

But grant them any whim their hearts 
may want. 

I'd make this farce to bait this foolish 
fish, 

Appear to him whose sense it is my wish 

To so delude, as some dread horrid dream, 

His soul to torture with strange sights 
that seem 

Before his awe-struck eyes to paw and 
prance, 

Like countless devils in a devil's dance. 

Away, away! each to his post repair, 

For soft! they come. Remember and 
beware ! 

Enter ORESTES, SEBASTIAN and ANTONIA, 

Eudora, Adessa, Alphonso, Lubin, 
Theophilus, Attendants, and followers. 
Welcome thou, my friends, retire to 

where conducted, 
That you may see, unseen, uninterrupt3d; 
For what you see to-night perchance will 

awe 
The bravest one among you, thy blood 

draw 
Away from fear-still'd heart, thy lips 

turn white 
Thine eyes to witness such a painful 

sight. 
Lose not thy trust in my esteemed worth, 
Pray thou allow not anxious hearts to 

dearth 
The trance-like spell I wield o'er son 

and friend 
By cries of tongue to cause a fruitless 

end. 
My might is great, protection greater yet, 
Nor greatness knows no bounds save 

more to get. 
Yea, he who knows the Tao needs not 

fear 



42 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act hi. 



The bite of reptiles, beasts that prowl 

anear, 
Nor birds of prey that soar the lither air, 
Disporting in their realm so light and 

rare, 
Yet pregnant with foul matters from be- 
low 
That fires the fatal swoop of the fatal foe 
Down on the earth, down on earth's hab- 
itants 
That live unshielded and without de- 
fense, 
Save for protection rendered by Tao; 
Invulnerate 'gainst death and living foe. 
Thus vested in such greatness and de- 
fense, 
Fear not that I will give thy hope offense 
Save that for his advantage and content. 
Tomorrow thou wilt say this hour was 

spent 
To richest profit and to noblest ends. 
Think, think, O souls, what on this hour 

depends! 
Is love a thing so meagre and so small, 
That love afflicting makes hearts chaff 

and gall 
At love's afflicting bane that renders 

new 
Affection's ties, makes them more 

stanch and true ? 
This discipline borne upon a wayward 

son 
Racks but to reap that which could ne'er 

be won 
By aught of else save necessary pain 
Inflicted on him loved, his love to gain 
In later times when he then sees the 

good 
Of a parent's jurisdiction, fatherhood. 
Now we have here two vipers deep in 

sin, 
To gaze on whom for beauty each might 

win 
The admiration of admiring eyes — 
Such as the Dorians gave to eulogize 
The snow-white pair, the princely dei- 
ties — 
But for their sins which turn to obsequies 
The latent humor of our wrathful gaze 
To chast them with the horror of hell's 

blaze. 
I'll stand condemner with Postumius 

grace, 
Yet not to pray but to condemn the base. 
As condemnation merits punishment, 
I'll cast them both to outer banishment, 
There to lie low in everlasting dread, 
Forever dying, dead, yet never dead; 
Forever living in this livid state, 
Nursing hell's agony, this to be their 

fate. 
This our intent to make real seem unreal, 



Unreal seem real and so with Roderick 
deal. 

What ho! foul imps: bring forth the in- 
fidel, 

His sense to craze by goadings of our 
hell! [Exeunt three or four imps. 

Friends, hark! when they do usher Rod- 
erick in, 

Nor stir, nor wince, nor groan, nor raise 
a din. 

Have patience, faith: do this to humor 
me, 

That, if thou dost, I'll give back unto thee 

A comelier son and friend than ere be- 
fore 

Thine eyes have gazed upon; one to 
adore. 

Screen well thyselves. 

Re-enter imps bearing RODERICK. 

There now! my charm hath lasted long 
and well; 

The energumen needs diversion's spell 

To spice his torment, cause his soul to 
quake, 

His heart to burst, eyes bulge— awake! 
awake ! 
\_Awakes suddenly and stares about him in be- 
wilderment and fright. The imps retire, leaving 

him standing before Gershom who holds him in a 

semi-state of catalepsv, spell-bound^ yet alive to the 

horridness of his surroundings. ,] 

Infidel! 

Hast thou a word to say for thy doom'd 
self; 

And know'st thou where thou art, or that 
thou hast 

This minute come to hell through port of 
death, 

Or what sad grievance brought thee here 
aghast ? 
Rod. What sayest thou? What ful- 
some place is this 

That ears do hear hot seething fires hiss; 

That eyes in office to my senses render 

A scene so foul that in me doth engender 

This mighty, trembling fear, this horrid 
dread ? 

O where am I ? Dost live or am I dead ? 
Gey. This is thy hell, thy narrow, 
seething hell, 

In which to live, to die, forever dwell! 

'Tis life from death, death after living 
life, 

'Tis death from life, life after dying 
strife. 

'Tis thus thy death, thy life: thy life, thy 
death, 

Thy hell, thy home, hell's-fire thy only 
breath. 
Rod. Last eve I, in my chamber, sleep- 
ing, lay; 



Scene iv.] 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



43 



But this — what horror's this? O, what 

dismay 
I now awake to? What surroundings 

fell? 
Has death encompass'd me, and is this 

hell? 
Poor spirit of a man whose pride was 

once 
The reigning king of prides! Alas, thou 

dunce, 
Thou fool, where flies thy spirit and thy 

pride 
That demons have the power thee to de- 
ride ! 
Ger. Thou art thy spirit but pride 

knows nauarht of thee, 
Down, down, therefore, bend thy stiff- 

temper'd knee! 
Let fall thy haughty gaze, this is not 

earth, 
But hell where fools are taken for their 

worth. 
Rod. Then earth were hell, and this 

must needs be earth 
Since earth, my hell, made joy in me so 

dearth. 
Why then, if this be earth, the other hell, 
And earth a hell, say I, on earth I 

dwell! 
Ger. What good to thee, if hell be only 

earth, 
Thou dwellest still in hell. Cease mock- 
ing mirth 
That only can condemn thee all the more, 
For striving out of hell to shrewdly soar. 
Dost any ling'ring thought in thee yet 

live 
That this is earth, cease thou the thought 

to give 
Existence in thy frenzied brain: for lo! 
Raise thy deluded eyes to heaven, and 

grow 
Accustom'd from thy hell to heaven's 

bliss, 
And by compare observe what thou dost 

miss. 
There sits thy mother, there upon her 

right 
Thy father stands enshrined in heaven's 

light. 
Good Lubin, too, that friend whom thou 

dost love 
Enjoys great prominence in that land 

above. 
Lo! by his side, Theophilus, mild and 

true 
In heaven dwells with naught on earth 

to rue. 
Why there's Alphonso, there's Adessa 

fair: 
Great angels that on earth could not 

compare 



With thee no more than lamp to sun 

With sun his brightest, lamp its end nigh 
run. 

Who else is there? Who else? Why 
look'st thou wild 

Upon such purity, love, grace undefil'd ? 

Thine eyes blaspheme, as thou thyself 
art curs'd, 

When they do feast on her who is im- 
mers'd 

Of God's redeeming grace. O, infidel! 

Dost thou doubt now that thou dost grope 
in hell ? 
Rod. O God, canst thou rule power in 
this curs'd place, 

Strike me oblivious from this deep dis- 
grace ! 

Hell's torture might I brave without a 
cry, 

But not those pitying looks from friends 
on high. 

[Falls upon the ground, overcome. 
Ger. Ha! be thou brave that thou de- 
ftest me, 

Thy courage quick I'll test; thou may'st 
then see 

What 'tis to scorn perdition's dreadful 
bane 

Whose foul effects allayeth not a grain, 

But ever groweth in intensity 

To gratify a mad propensity 

To wrought revenge on thy poor doom- 
cursed soul, 

That casteth thee beyond thy friends' 
condole, 

Who disappear behind fair heaven's gate 

To leave thee to lament thy fearful fate. 

Thy doomed soul must suffer as it pleased 

Thee to defy great Heaven's love unap- 
peased. 

Hell claims her victim by ordained right, 

Nor naught sufficeth but thy soul to 
blight 

Forever in her flames. O, infidel, pre- 
pare, 

Thy doom is fixed, nor friends, nor God 
can spare 

Thee now from hades' fire engulfing thee ; 

This is thine end, thy fateful destiny. 

Ne'er didst thou hear such thunders as 
hell's bolts 

Whose deep-toned mutterings belch 
forth trembling volts; 

Ne'er didst thou dream of such fear- 
fetching imps 

As these that are hell's prancing, pan- 
dering pimps. 

Ne'er didst thou cringe before a might- 
ier power 

Than this before the which thou now 
dost cower. 



44 



A GEMINY OF YIPEES. 



[Act hi. 



Die, die, yet live, a living death for thee, 
Dwell ever in perpetual misery! 
■Rod. God, were I out 'f this accursed 

place 
Forever would I dwell in Thy good grace. 
On earth once more I'd serve Thee well 

and true; 
Alas, too late! I meet a fool's just due. 
God! God! death creepeth o'er my 

senses swift: 
Eternity is death — hell's ransom-gift. 

[Sleeps. 
Ger. Well done! He calls upon Jeho 

vah's name; 
Tomorrow's sun will see him humbly 

tame. 
Imps, speed! transmit him to his lone- 
some room. 

[Exeunt Imps, bearing Roderick. 
Sebastian, friends, come forth! Another 

doom 
Awaits another fool, a villain, beast, 
Whose thirst for murder ne'er hath found 

its feast; 
But that the thirst remaineth in his heart, 
Ne'er can the feast cleave murderous 

jaws apart. 
Enter SEBASTIAN and the others from their con- 
cealment. 
Sebas. O, wondrous man! The end is 

that I crav'd: 
I feel within my heart my son is sav'd. 
Ger. Peace! voice not praise on my 

poor pygmean power 
Which is God's own that in me hath its 

dower, 
That, wielded through this medium of 

man's hand, 
Has served thy son to save by repri- 
mand. 
But stay, the cravings of this night are 

not appeas'd: 
There yet remains another, God be 

pleased, 
To chastise and to punish for an act, 
Though not committed none the less a 

fact; 
Since he with murder lurking still in 

heart 
Confronts a murderer's doom; for 'tis no 

part 
To do what intent prompts withal to do, 
Though unaccomplish'd deed base will 

ensue, 
So much as 'tis a part to will the thing 
Crav'd for, frustrated. This is what doth 

bring 
Worse condemnation on the head of him 
Whose heart, approving, whose hand, 

murderous, grim, 
Is staid from doing what is in the heart 



By timely interruption whose no part 

Of its existence comes from willer's will, 

Whose deepest motive is one but to kill. 
Sebas. Why, who is this ? 
Ger. Why, who ? Canst thou not 

guess ? 

And guessing must thou ignorantly di- 
gress 

From sighting true and skillful guessing 
aim 

On one who rests even now 'neath thy 
just blame? 

He who, himself, digressed from thee in 
time, 

But for my presence, to commit this 
crime ? 
Sebas. What! Humphrey? 
Ger. Humphrey, ay! indeed. 

Sebas. Pshaw ! pshaw! 

No other man on earth observes that law 

Which governs christian deeds to fellow 
mate 

More closer than Sir Humphrey does. 
End. Now wait! 

I have myself suspicion'd for a time 

That Humphrey's heart approves not acts 
sublime, 

That acts themselves screen but a heart 
unfit 

For any save a hateful hypocrite. 
Sebas. O! what a baneful thing sus- 
picion is, 

Whose venom wroughts within the hu- 
man mind 

Deep miseries of mistrustful, trusting 
love, 

That doth outrival in its venom'd force 

The deadly scorpion or the adder's tooth ; 

Makes hate a murderer of forbearing 
love ; 

Makes love her own destroyer, killing 
love; 

Denudes her of her beauty and her 
flower, 

Supplants her grace, her wisdom, and her 
power 

By crowning on her devastated throne 

A royal tyrant, causing hearts groan 

Beneath the thralldom of a king, called 
hate, 

To ever curse their sad unnatural fate. 

The amaranthean bud with perfume rare, 

The breath of frost its fragrance doth im- 
pair; 

So virtue sitting deep in true-born heart 

Doth fade and die, doth from its virtue 
part 

Touch'd by suspicion's tainting, impure 
breath ; 

O where, O where can be a sadder death, 

Or where a fouler wielder of a death, 

Or where a comelier victim of a death ? 



Scene iv.] 



A G EMI NY OF VIPERS. 



45 



Ger. Why, for the first had it not been 

for me, 
I could ere now have shown the first to 

thee. 
As for the second, thou wilt soon see it 
As thou dost gaze upon the hypocrite. 
The third, though it has not as yet been 

clone, 
To-morrow thou wilt see it in thine own 

son; 
Not comely victim of a cruel death, 
But comely son saved twice from cruel 

death, 
That as thou on his beauteous form wilt 

gaze 
To mark enhancement in him thou wilt 

praise 
And bless the act that foil'd a traitor's 

scheme 
From robbing thee of him whom you 

esteem; 
To aid the which, thy thanks to propa- 
gate, 
Compare him then to such a cruel fate, 
Then let thy voice cry out in stifled 

breath : 
'O, where a comelier victim of a death!' 
For virtue newly graft in new-born son, 
Is virtue's virtue being newly won. 

Sebas. How now, mysterious man, thy 

phrases set 
'Twixt illative conjunctions do beget, 
As husband to my fractious, wife-like 

mind, 
Strange sons of thought in her, sons so 

unkind 
That I, perforce, I, my mind's strict 

abode, 
Have been forsaken by this episode. 
Do I infer from thy misshapen speech 
That Humphrey would commit so gross 

a breach 
As that to murder my beloved son ? 
Is this the meaning of thy words just 

spun ? 
Ger. The very same, my lord. 
Sebas. Why, if this be, 

Bring forth the villain, let me his face see, 
That if he look but innocent and shy, 
I, mindful that he's hypocrite, will fly 
Straightway to the conclusion of his guilt, 
And punish him accordingly. 

Ores. Thou wilt ? 

And where is thy authority to wield 
Such punishment ? 

Sebas. Why, that of son to shield, 
Of motherhood's long preservation stay 
Against such tyrants, fiends that would 

so slay 
An unsuspicious, unoffensive soul. 
Why dost thou ask ? 



Ores. Why do high waters roll 

To nether lands, but that to seek some 

place 
More native to their moods and native 

grace ? 
'Tis so my query poureth in thine ear 
j Which doth befit it more than my mouth's 

gear. 
Eud. Why, Lord Sebastian, this being 

Humphrey's friend, 
'Tis only meet that Humphrey he defend. 
Ger. Then I wonld say, watch friend 

as well as him 
Who had the heart to do a murder grim ; 
For what the one would do the other 

would : 
A beast does stand, some time, where 

others stood 
With instincts like the other's brutish 

will, 
That as the others killed so he will kill. 
Am. Now, I know not the beast Ores- 
tes is, 
But I feel very loth to stigmatize 
With such a beastly cognomen as this 
One who has always rested well and 

strong 
In my heart's confidence as Humphrey 

has. 
Yet if the crisis of his presence prove 
To show him guilty, God knows it will 

move 
This quondam gracious, trusting heart of 

mine 
To thoughts of vengeance 'gainst a stud- 
ied crime, 
Whose gross committance would have 

killed my son, 
Upon the very night that he was won 
From darkness to the beaming light of 

God. 
Oh haste! bring forth this man accused 

of fraud, 
And let him prove his innocence, or die 
Here on this very spot before mine eye, 
That it may feast upon so foul a wretch 
Who would so dare raise murderous, 

treacherous steel, 
In wanton humor wantonly to deal 
A noble life its death that now doth live 
Secure from death that Humphrey would 

him give, 
More nobly in the sight of Heaven's eye, 
Than if in heaven he lived, on earth did 

die 
A death so foully wrought. 

Sebas. Come Gershom, speed; 

Bring forth the culprit, we his sin to 

meed. 
God will, I know, forgive my hand his 

death, 
If it be meet to punish him with death; 



Hi 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act hi. 



As who can say 'tis kind to let wild beast 
Prowl man's demesne, upon the innocent 

feast. 
'Twere kinder in the sight of God to slay 
Unruly spirits that on men do prey. 
Go Gersham go, fetch here this murder- 
ing thing, 
That we upon his head our wrath may 

fling. 
Ger. Stand well away yet well beside 

thyselves, 
Thus fortified to guard from him thy- 
selves; 
For who can know but desperation might 
Add murder here to annals of this night. 
Attendants! Guards! Look to your arms, 

prepare 
A villain now to meet and bravely dare ; 
For though the limits of his iron chains 
Constraineth him, who knows buthedis- 

pains 
Their iron strength, and with a mighty 

wrench 
Snap them asunder, so without a blench 
Himself seek vengeance ere we seek his 

death. 
Therefore be cautious. [Exit. 

Alph. Methinks if I had breath, 

Or feet, or legs, or any part of me, 
That I might wind, or run, or hear, or 

see, 
I'd quick away from this death-sickly 

place. 
My God! I will be kill. 

Ades. You! who would care 

To kill a bullock framed to shape so spare 
As thine ungainly bones and shriveled 

meat; 
Rest easy, none would slay so spare a 

neat. 
Alph. I would my spareness spare me 

from his gaff; 
I have no mood to root mine epitaph 
Nutritiously above the earth to rear 
Its head, whilst I below do shrink and 

sear. 
Re-enter GERSHOM with HUMPHREY in chains. 
Alph. Lo! Fenrir fettered falls; 

But let him loose, he galls. 
Ger. Come fiend, don grace on thy dis- 
grace, since thou 
Hast donned disgrace on grace, which 

marks thy brow 
With Cain's disgraceful brand. Here are 

thy friends. 
Dost know them ? 

Hum. Know them! Curse them, my 

heart rends 
Itself well-nigh from out its bosom's seat 
To gaze on them whose friendships prove 

defeat 



To my well-laid designs. What is their 

will? 
Sebas. Why, canst thou ask ? Our will 

is thee to kill 
Unless thou canst disprove the monstrous 

guilt 
Beneath the which thy life is now o'er- 

shadowed. 
If thou canst prove thine innocence, our 

will 
Will be to reinstate thee once again 
In our heart's kindest favor. 

Hum. Thou art kind, 

Exceeding, gracious kind. But look to 

this: 
Thy kindness is my hate ungraciously 

bestowed 
Upon my gracious friends. Dost know 

its weight ? 
What if it so disposes me to meet 
Nor one, nor other of your harsh de- 
mands, 
But rather fold myself in silent mood 
To kindle wrath with exasperation's food, 
That oft doth fire revenge when words 

will not; 
Methinks 'twould better suit this death- 
still grot. 
Sebas. And better suit thyself since 

now to speak 
Thy speech must issue from betwixt foul 

lips, 
Sprung from a murderer's heart to strike 

our ears, 
From thence our hearts to vengeance and 

defense. 
Devil, man-fiend, thy guilt lies on thy 

face, 
Nor words, nor silence can hide thy dis- 
grace. 
Thou must, therefore, now answer for 

thy sin 
To man for sake of man, to hearts within. 
Then thy soul perjured, fly to heaven's 

realm, 
There meet thy fate, great God thee 

overwhelm. 
Theo. O, uncle, is this thou ? I know 

thee not, 
Confined in chains, imprisoned in this 

grot 
To answer for so grievous-toned a charge, 
Preferred by thy once friends who did 

enlarge 
Till now without one set-exception'd 

soul, 
Upon thy virtues voiced without cajole. 
What motive prompted thee, how thou 

hadst heart 
To raise thy hand 'gainst fellow-man, 

depart 



Scene iv.] 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



i: 



From thine old honor and thy wonted 

pride, 
To lower thyself with such vice side by 

side, 
My driveled thoughts refuseth me to 

teach : 
O, uncle, why didst thou this ? I thee 

beseech. 
Hum. The clankings of these chains 

thou seest here 
Shackling my feet and hands is my 

tongue's talk. 
What do they say ? Humphrey's a mur- 
derer 
Intent upon a deed he now regrets 
The weakness of his will and hand post- 
poned 
The swift achievement of. What dost 

thou say, 
Thou infant, for whose own advantage, I, 
Thy graceless uncle, resting now 'neath 

the wrath 
Of his indignant friends, would hnve 

freed thee 
Of the only living rival estranging thee 
From thy high hopes of future happi- 
ness ? 
And now thou sayest, O, uncle, I do not 

know thee; 
And, O, uncle, why hadst thou this vile 

deed 
In thy heart? Must I then say 'twas 

love 
I bore my nephew ? Then all the world 

might say 
And speak in just surprise: Humphrey's 

a fool 
To have it in his heart to strike for one 
In whose behalf no booty could be won, 
But that from one poor nephew of poor 

worth, 
Who had not heart to woo nor win a lady, 
Staid on all sides by kind and willing 

hands, 
To set him to a cause his own, not theirs, 
Yet theirs, not his; for he is naught, but 

they, 
Their lives, their honor, and their souls 

at stake, 
That now they've lost, must their re- 
ward here take. 
Theo. And dost thou lot deserve what 

thou wilt get ? 
I had a strange uneasiness at heart 
Which was of other make than that of 

love's, 
That as the hour drew nigh for thy return 
And thou earnest not, I straightway set me 

forth. 
I could not stay to be a prey to thoughts 
So sore conflicting as those that were 



But ne'er did I expect to find thee here, 
Disgraced, dishonored, sham'd, cowed 

with deep fear. 
Methought, perchance, being my embas- 
sador, 
Thou had'st through love for me done 

even more 
Than thy strength warranted, with this 

in mind 
I came to search for thee, came thee to 

find; 
But I would I'd not found thee, finding 

thee 
In such disgrace and sin. God pity thee. 
Ant. Wherefore hast thou strayed from 

us in this freak ! 
O, Humphrey, to us who would trust 

thee, speak. 
'Tis not with ease we thus give up a 

friend, 
Nor will we lest he cannot him defend. 
Thy fault is great, a grievous fault to all, 
But sore to me; my mother's heart doth 

call 
Aloud for vengeance. Canst thou not 

explain 
Thine actions ? Then thou must in truth 

be slain. 
Hum. Madam, the honor thou and thy 

kindred kith 
Did ever think in me had resting place 
Was but an honor to thyself a mych; 
To me a policy to carry which 
I oft did play deceit and guile on thee, 
Watching how proud thy credulous eyes 

beheld 
What to them was a beauteous virtue set, 
Though what in truth was virtue's coun- 
terfeit, 
Which thou had'st not the wisdom to 

detect, 
And place deterioration on its base, 
But to adorn it with thy favored grace. 
Ant. O, thou hast been too honest, 

good, and true 
For me to well believe that thou could'st 

do 
A deed so brutish as this for the which 
Thou'rt held to answer here. 

Hum. Once I was rich, 

And being rich had no occasion then 
To play my dormant guiles on fellow - 

men. 
But now poor, beggared, bankrupt that 

I am, 
To so retrieve my fortunes I would damn 
Not one, but one one thousand infidels, 
And send them to a thousand burning 

hells. 
-Int. This is not Humphrey but a devil 

turned. 



48 



A GJEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act hi. 



Sebas. And being devil should with 

them be spurned. 
Hum. And but for why ? Because the 

crisis proved 
A circumstantial fate from me unmoved. 
Well, I was once as gracious in thy sight 
As thou art in the sight of heaven's eye; 
And had'st thou been but asked by an 

unknown 
Who is the fairest man in thy esteem, 
Thou would'st as lief have said Sir Hum- 
phrey was, 
As any of thy knowledge in the world. 
Is't strange, then, to thee that I now 

stand furled 
In such predicament, that for want of 

grace, 
Disgrace confuses me, blushes my face '? 
Is't all so strange that cloudless skies on 

high 
Become o'er-cast of sudden, to the eye 
Present a quick-wrought aspect, as 

amazed 
We shudder, viewing that on which we 

gazed 
Now bright, now set in gloom, whose 

visage changed 
From smiles to frowns, mysteriously ar- 
ranged 
Even thus— being heedless in some pass- 
ing wiles — 
Ere we do know of it, as though for 

smiles 
Contentment to us bringing, it were 

wrought 
To wrest laugh from a happy, joyous 

thought? 
Now, let me be these skies, you they 

that gaze; 
Canst thou condemn the skies, their 

sombre haze, 
When thou art to the skies what they to 

thee 
Would be to me were they thee and thou 

me? 
I ah. O, listen to the false-cored 

arguer; 
He will if let preach himself out of hell. 
Sebas. And make us all, like him, gross 

hypocrites. 
Come, wretch, thou art not longer fit to 

live, 
Since thou hast by thine acts made thy- 
self known 
To tbe world, as God hath ever known 

thee. 
Guards, seize upon the man, conduct 

him thence — 
I lu in. Not yet! Away! Is there a 

fool of ye 
Quite fool enough to brave swift certain 

death ? 



Well, if there be, advance. 

[Plucks a dagger from out his raiment. 
For by the all 
Immortal gods that do preside o'er all 
The destinies of fools, I'll plunge this 

knife, 
Even to its hilt, in the first of ye that 

dare 
Lay dastard's fear-faint fingers upon me. 
Ant. O, woful is this night! 
Eud. Hark to the man ! 
Ades. O, madam, there will be worser 

trouble here, 
Than we did ever once look for, I fear. 
Hum. Orestes, come thou to me; come 

closer yet! 
Why, dost thou fear me too ? Art thou a 

fool 
That to the name of traitor thou dost add 
A little better name than its consort, 
To spice it to a readier mode of wit, 
Or to a quicker doom ? Why, this doth 

fit 
Thy double-name and doth give honor to 

it. [Stabs him. 

Then take thou all the honor thou canst 

stand, 
That death may be a glory not a pang. 

[Stabs him twice more. He falls. 
That as in life thou hast a traitor proved, 
Thou mayst in death from thyself be re- 
moved. 
Let death award thee all his honors 

pluck'd 
From Humphrey's store— sweet honor's 

from him suck'd 
By thy tenacious tentacles of love, 
Which take their root not in a heart of 

love, 
But that to serve me falsely to this end; 
So die, that if I must, I'll with thee spend 
Eternity in hell. [ Orestes die s. 

Sebas. O, fiend! O, fiend! 

Guards, watch thy time; launch forth 

with steady aim 
Thy javelins swift to kill and not to maim. 
Ger. Yet hold! Such intent from his 

act now stay. 
Let me upon the fiend my sorcery play; 
For such an act becomes my innate skill 
More surely than it does ye him to kill. 
Let justice take her course in thy just 

court; 
Let me take him to justice; on him sport 
My power and mine art to thus reduce 
Him to a numbness: guard ye from abuse 
Such as this rendered yon poor murdered 

tool, 
Who though did die a death quite due the 

fool, 
Died falsely accus'd, a martyr to the 

cause 



Scene rv.] 



A GE3IINY OF YIPEES. 



1!> 



I now defend with all my might; so 

pause, 
The spell not to dispel, or we may lose 
All that we've won by our late well- 
worked ruse. 
Hum. Thou fool! Dost thou think 

thou canst sorcer me ? 
Methinks myself, I can a sorcerer be. 
Ger. To what effect? The devil from 

the God 
Can wrest no virtue save that gained by 

fraud, 
Which is a virtue teem'd from hell's 

worst pit, 
Found in no heart but that of a hypocrite. 
Hum. Look to thine art. 
Ger. And thou; look 

thou to thine. 
Thou wilt ere long be safely meshed in 

mine. 
Hum. Why, death were better than this 

mimic death ; 
A thousand deaths than that to follow it. 
Hell hath no terrors, heaven no beau- 
teous charm 
To stay my hand, death gives no dread 

alarm. 
So ere thy spell can on me fully gain 
Its hold, in death I refuge hope, disdain 
Thy petty, paltry power to beguile. 
There there, this feeling strange my 

sense doth guile 
Like very sleep that doth o'er-power me; 
My faculties to numbness grow; I see 
As through a haze, and in my deadened 

ears 
Come far-off sounds to list to which great 

tears 
Of mortal dread well to my heavy eyes. 
Now death be kind; waft me beyond the 

skies! 
[Stabs himself and falls on the body of Orestes. 
Here do I lie on my once loyal friend; 
Here do I die to meet his self-same end. 

[Dies. 
Ant. O, piteous sight! Are we grown 

mad, bewitched ? 
My heart appalled stands still, then is it 

twitched 
To nighty palpitations. I grow faint. 
[Swoons. 
Alph. Lo, look! The hermit! 
Ger. Friends, pray 

steady me. 
Set me upon the ground from off my 

state. 
I feel swift death approaching me. There 

wait ! 
This mighty struggle, these events to- 
night 
Have played so sorely on my vested 

might, 



That now beneath the ordeal I succumb. 
Soon I will be to earth as cold and dumb 
As Humphrey and Orestes are. But hark ! 
I fear not death ; to on her sea embark 
In God's celestial argosy which sails 
Swift, sure, and straight to God, stayed 

not by gales. 
Farewell to all! May Roderick ever live 
The pride of all, to chaste Eudora give 
What chastity deserves; his father, 

mother, friends, 
Reward in goodly traits and noble ends. 

[Dies. 
Lub. A noble soul thus takes its flight 

on high; 
O, what an easy death do christians die; 
What bitter throes has death when 't 

comes to vice ; 
'The wage of sin is death,' a bitter price. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 
SCENE I. Bed Chamber of Roderick. 

Jinter Roderick and Alphonso. 
Rod. What say'st thou of the night, 

Alphonso ? 
Alph. Why, I did have a brutish -na- 

tur'd dream, 
Most singular and horrid were its wefts 
Of tragic fantasies, which, woven in 
My dream-craz'd brain, wrought me 

asunder from 
My native self, and left me quite dis- 
tract. 
Rod. Thou always wert a timid-minded 

youth, 
So I would say it staid thee to thyself, 
Away from foreign moods of valiancy. 
But there; I. too, did dream. What was 

thy dream ? 
Perchance thine will shed particles of 

light to mine, 
And aid me to interpret its significance. 
Alph. Well, I did dream that in some 

hell-like spot— 
Rod. There! In these very words 

would I begin 
My dream. How like! 

Alph. Sir Humphrey, being 

accus'd 
Of some dark hidden treachery, just 

brought 
To notice of the world, accused in turn 
His friend, Orestes, of being traitor to 
Some secret work of theirs, that, there- 
upon, 
Ere intuition had time to anticipate, 
Or hand to stay, the fiend did stab 

Orestes 
Once, twice, thrice, in his most vital 

parts, 



50 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act iv. 



That death did follow instantly. 

Rod. In sooth, 

A brutish dream, though one I would 
were true. 

But stay, there's some connection in this 
dream 

Of thine, which links itself to mine, yet 
what 

It is I cannot say. Pray thread thy 
dream 

To its most final end. 

Alph. I cannot thread it to its final 
end; 

For I have not the will to delve to where 

The souls of Humphrey and Orestes 
blend, 

I'm safest far away from this foul pair. 
Rod. Come, 'tis but a dream, and this 
the hour of day. 

Why does thy shivering aspen body shake 

At merest fantasy. 
Alph. What! Have you not heard? 

My dream of yesternight, to-day con- 
fronts me 

As a vivid truth, and I have seen 

The bodies of Sir Humphrey and Orestes, 

Gazed on the silent tongueless testimo- 
nies 

Of their death, whose blood-red, gapping 
lips 

Smiled sickly back to my dazed, sickly 
eyes, 

As though they, famishing, grimly 
smirked at me 

To put a drop of water 'twixt the twain, 

To stay the oozing of that gory froth. 
Rod." And this thou say'st is true ? 
Alph. Ay, true as truth, 

As that truth which the eye gives to the 
mind, 

When other wits fail other truths to find, 

Yet finding, find them all so false un- 
couth, 

Truth had been better falsehood, false- 
hood truth. 
Rod. And thou hast seen them both ? 
Alph. Their bodies, ay; 

Their ghastly wounds that on their bodies 
lie, 

Which robbed them of their hypocritic 
souls, 

And sent them to their doom. 
Rod. What heart condoles 

The two deceased fools ? 

Alph. None; who would mourn 

Two such perfection's villains past the 
bourn, 

Whose exit from this life is but the grave, 

Through which all men must pass, from 
king to knave. 
Rod. True, true; the man that mourns 
the hypocrite, 



The name doth him quite perfectly befit. 
But did'st thou dream all this ? 

Alph. All this and more. 

When Humphrey, having struck Orestes 

dead, 
Plung'd with his murderous hand the 

dripping knife 
Into his own bare breast, why lo! me- 

thought 
Old satan standing there, did, wanning, 

die 
With these words on his lips spoke in 
death's sigh: 
The infidel in hades dwells, 

The hypocrite also; 
To earth I bid my last farewells, 
To hell I also go! 
With that I woke, right glad was I to 

wake 
From such a dream that gave me such a 
shake. 
Rod. But where draw'st thou the bor- 
der line of truth, 
And where the line of dream? 
Alph. Truth's line I draw when dreams 
cease to be truth, 
When you God doth redeem. 
Rod. There, there, you knave you, 
what a witty one 
Hast thou turned out to be! 
Alph. Not half so witty as the witty sun 

Which shines on you and me. 
Rod. Well go, lead thou the way to him 
that's slain ; 
I would the truth perceive. 
Alph. Ay! ay! my lord, but guage your 
addled brain, 
Lest you your eyes deceive. [Exeunt. 
SCENE II. Chamber in Humphreys house 
containing his bier and remains. 
Enter RODERICK and ALPHONSO. 

Rod. From in this warm-lit chamber 

come to me, 
As if from off amphibian shores, betwixt 
Cold-natured north and hot-distemper'd 

south, 
Strange-laden breaths which chill me to a 

sweat, 
And tell me, ere I see it, death is here — 
Why, there it lies upon its solemn bier. 
Thou poor, lost soul, how poor thy body 

looks 
Deprived of thee; how pale, how wan it 

looks! 
Thy tongue inserted in its f utchel groove, 
Now idly falls deprived of power to move, 
As it has erstwhile done, good easy 

hearts 
To meet thy will; thy power from thee 

departs. 
And did I stand before thy animate form? 



Scene hi.] 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



5 J 



And did I lift my hand to strike thee 

down 
But yesterday ? Then what see I to-day? 
Thy soul aborted out of mortal clay, 
Leaves but the clay for mortal eyes to 

see. 

God, I pray this soul from hell to free ! 
There there, how quick we turn from 

hate to love, 
When death has severed us from that 

we'd love! 
How soon our hearts are willing to for- 
give 
That which death claims, he whom whilst 

he did live 
We did antagonize in bitter strife! 
Alas ! alas ! what bitter hates has life ; 
And what a bitter thing is life itself 
Whose government is malice, God is pelf; 
And life so short, uncertain, an unknown; 
We are but fools upon a flimsy throne. 
Like phantoms wrought about in grossest 

scrawl 
Upon the beams of a dust-begrimmed 

wall, 
Which breathed upon by passing breath 

of God 
Outwits recapture; so we go to God. 
Stay! say I now to God when yesternight 

1 sought my sleep disdaining such a 

might ? 
There, tbere, the dream, the hideous, 

horrid dream ! 
O God, through it, Thou did'st my soul 

redeem. 
How plain to me is't now in arguments 
Which place their truths before my 

mind's credence. 
What painter's hand's so steady without 

rest 
That it can trace the film-fine lines that 

crest 
In subtle finish portraitures of queens, 
But that to daub their backgrounds with 

coarse scenes ? 
Did ever man become within himself 
So conscious-perfect, that, as in-wrought 

delf 
Upon the glaz'd face of the ancient cup, 
Which sparkles in the eyes of them that 

sup 
From off its gilded rim, he can, likewise, 
Emit perfection through soft, courteous 

eyes, 
Unaided, unsupported by a power 
More powerful than that of human dower? 
As babe depends upon its mother's breast, 
So man, God's child, through Christ, 

God's poor bruis'd breast, 
Upon whose pap this infant world doth 

hang, 



Receives his nourishment. O, what a 

pang 
Doth mother's puking babe oft give her 

soul, 
As it, unconscious, offers no condole, 
Save that in mocking, babe-bewitching 

eyes, 
As they, beneath, peer up in their dear 

skies, 
So radiant set in smiles — a mother's love 
Which beams down on her babe through 

eyes above. 
O, what a pang we babes upon the earth 
Give heaven-mother from our very 

birth; 
That heart's first babe's conception of a 

thing 
Pertains to evil and doth evil bring 
Upon our heads — chastisement from our 

God, 
Which covers up remaining good to laud. 
Thus I, believing, I my heart to prove, 
Now here beneath my heaven and my 

God, 
Look down upon this sombrous-laden 

bier, 
'Twixt two eternities of life and death, 
And swear allegiance to my living God, 
And consecrate my soul in peace to God. 

\_Exeunt. 

SCENE III. Room in Eudora's house. 

Enter ElIDORA, ADESSA, SEBASTIAN, AN- 
TONIA, LUBIN, THEOPHILUS and 

Attendants. 
Theo. Nay, hear me, Lady Eudora, 

whilst I speak: 
After these hard experiences of the night, 
That have reduced us all to sore distress, 
I tell thee freely and with honest heart 
That which but yesterday ne'er did I 

think 
I could recount to thee with willing mind. 
If thou would'st say my love is insincere, 
My reconciliation lives too near 
Behind thy coldly-spoke refusing speech, 
Which smote mine ears like notes of 

hell's discord, 
My heart like death, my soul to madnejs 

plung'd, 
Let such a thought supplanted be by this; 
That loving thee still do I love my God; 
That loving God am so beloved by Him; 
That loving God and thee love thee not 

less, 
But God the more which softens mine for 

thee, 
And balms my soul 'gainst thine withheld 

from me; 
That if for thee love still lurk in my soul, 
I turn with it to God me to condole. 



52 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act iv. 



Ne'er shall I harbor aught but good to- 
ward thee, 

Thus may I prove my deep sincerity. 
End. In proving this thou provest thy- 
self most noble, 

That as thou stand'st before my troubled 
eye, 

I see within thee more traits to admire, 

Which traits I trust in thee will never die. 

'Tis my regretful heart by means of 
tongue 

Regretful as my heart that tells thee this, 

That I fain would have loved thee for thy 
worth, 

Had not my love been proned in me at 
birth, 

Directed from this source to another head 

By this same God thou lov'st, I also love, 

Who, too, loves me as thee, who loves all 
men, 

Who loves him whom I love, has him re- 
deemed 

From darkness unto light, a thing that 
seemed 

To us till now past all accomplishment 

Worked out by us, our wits upon him 
spent. 

'Tis well thou flnd'st thy solace in this 
One 

Who has thee soothed, who has my joys 
begun. 
Theo. I would thy joys brought by 
laborious birth, 

Bring lesser burdening brothers to thy 
hearth. 
End. For this thou hast my life-long 

gratitude. 
Ihco. And thou hast mine: let mine 
give thy joys food. 

But there, Antonia speaks. 

Ant. My lady! 

End. What would 

The good prostrate Antonia have ? Dost 
languish 

For that I have not, but say the word 

And I'll research my secretest resorts, 

And bring from thence my rarest, best 
delights, 

If but thy present testy whims to please, 

Thy tired limbs reclaim. 

Ant. I crave one boon. 

My heart doth languish for one single 
thing, 

Which, when I it possess, thou wilt, thy- 
self, 

Be less thyself but more to me, me thee, 

Than thou hast e'er yet been, or I to 
thee, 

In my heart's mew'd desires. 
End. Do I possess 

This thing that would give thee thy boon? 



Why, if it be my very life 'twere thine 
But for the asking of it. 

Ant. O gracious one, 

How fair thou art; how noble is thy gift! 
Thy gift as noble as thyself art fair, 
Thyself as fair as thou art graciously 
Disposed to humor me. Come sit by me, 
And like a mother I will be to thee, 
Thee unto me what thou wert wont to be 
Were I thy mother in affinity. 
End. And thee to me what thou wert 
wont to be 
Were I thy daughter in affinity. 
Methinks this were a gift not mine to 

give, 
But rather 'tis another's who doth live 
Estranged still from us, our love's de- 
fense; 
O, would I had relief from this suspense! 
[Kneels beside Lady Antonia. 
Scbas. There, thou art now within thy 
rightful place; 
No grace from heaven e'er fell with such 

a grace 
Into my famished soul as thou hast knelt 
With grace unto thy matron. Ne'er have 

I felt 
A deeper joy than this that's greater joy 
Than that the great'sfc through my re- 
deemed boy. 
End. Why, if redeem'd, does thy son 

tarry so ? 
Sebas. Why when reproach'd, do chil- 
dren shamed grow ? 
End. Susceptible is child to petty 

things. 
Sebas. So this great change remorse to 
manhood brings. 
So do all righted wrongs in human heart 
Bring deep regret when they from it de- 
part. 
End. Yet now methinks had I been 
infidel 
Awakened to such love from such a hell 
As thy son Roderick hath, I'd haste me 

to— 
Not from my eager friends, their pardon 

sue 
For being so ungrateful to them all, 
Who first to last did stand steadfast as 

Paul 
To Christ did stand. 

Sebas. List to impatience talk, 

Wherein poor woman hath not time to 

hawk 
Herself into one hurried word to say 
Her griefs untold: impatience leads the 
way. 
End. Impatience then hath much the 
nobler part 
Than hath a woman with an anxious 
heart. 



Scene hi.] 



A GEMINT OF VIPERS. 



53 



' Enter ALPHONSO, singing. 
Alph. O cheery, cheery is ray way; 

Tne moon is sun, the night is day, 

The day is here and so am I; 

My master's coming by and by ! 

Sebas. What ho, Alphonso! Where's 

thy master now ? 

Leave off thy singing, tell us where, and 

how, 
And when thou leftest him. 

Alph. Where? At Sir Humphrey's; 
over Sir Humphrey's bier, 
Tall and straight and white as that bier's 

epitaph, 
And had he words inscribed what he did 

say, 
On his broad front, whilst standing rigid 

there, 
A very walking epitaphic man 
Would my griev'd master be. 
Sebas. Since when was this ? 

Alph. When that point of the finger of 
the clock 
Struck my departure thence, hence, here 

from him ; 
Nor could that clock outspeed me in my 

pace, 
For whilst I ran it moved but thrice its 
face. 
Sebas. How seemed his mood when 

thou didst leave him there ? 
Alph. He seemed as cheerless as the 

sun is fair. 
Sebas. Seemed he to have been 

changed, his soul's sin rinc'd ? 
Alph. Ay! seem'd confused, confuted, 

and convinc'd. 
Sebas. Think'st thou, Alphonso, con- < 
viction also reigns 
Within his heart ? 

Alph. If you had seen what pains 

Remorse his conscience did inflict, you 

would 
Not ask. Imagine all ye how he stood, 
With one bare arm raised high toward 

heaven's dome, 
As though to pluck from heaven a little 

love 
To warm him to a purpose yet too young 
To totter in its peevish infancy. 
The other hand was laid upon the wound 
Where did the knife plunge in Sir Hum- 
phrey's breast, 
Wielded by Sir Humphrey's hand. In 

this style 
Of sacred-poised attitude did he 
Swear unto God and heaven in deep re- 
frain, 
An oath to cherish God, all else disdain. 
Ant. O, this is news, Eudora, news for 
thee 
As well as for a mother. O, to see 



This new-made son of mine, my heart 
doth crave. 

God hath been good to me my son to save. 
Eud. And me a husband to endow with 
grace. 

What would I give to gaze upon his face, 

Which has till now been to mine eyes a 
mask, 

To view the which has been a cruel task. 
Sebas. Hast aught else yet to tell us, 
Alphonso, 

Touching thy master's state ? 

Alph. Naught, sir, but that 

The which if breath'd aloud may seem, 
perchance, 

A trifle past the door of modesty, 

O'er-stept beyond the chamber of re- 
serve, 

Into the lodgement of a fool's self-praise. 
Sebas. Why, 'tis a fool, indeed, that 
from self-praise 

His foolery doth find. Art thou in love ? 
Alph. Is love a braggart's plea ? 
Sebas. Ay, it is man's best hope to 
praise in love 

Great deeds of valor he himself hath 
done: 

Thus lovers are made fools, fools lovers 
are. 

Art thou in love ? then thou art worser 
fool. 

Therefore speak thou a lover's foolish 
praise; 

Give us more cheer in setting love ablaze 

As she doth set her ears to catch the drift 

Of thy account; thus palsy any shift 

She may have mind to practice on thy 
sense, 

Thyself to shield at thy love's dear ex- 
pense. 
Alph. Well, 'tis a wise fool wisely fools 
his lady, 

And turns pert pique to pining, makes 
cheeks fady. 

Now hark ye all! Methinks had not my 
wit 

Been by me brought to play upon my 
master 

With well selected points of argument, 

He yet were infidel. 'Twas in "this wise: 

What I did see last night, to-day I put 

In form of dream my master's ears to 
please, 

Whilst we his morning toilet did arrange. 

The nature of this dream did so compare 

With that of his, that he, struck with re- 
morse, 

Quick importun'd me thence to Hum- 
phrey's bier, 

Where he did follow, gave himself to God, 

Invoking mercy on poor Humphrey's 
soul. 



54 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



[Act iv. 



Sebas. Why ! didst thou this ? Then let 
love to love speed; 
For 'tis an act the which true love should 

meed. 
Adessa, greet thy lord ; shun thou not him. 
Alphonso — 

Alph. Greet thy lady! Is love a whim? 
[ They embrace} O, no, no, no! 'Tis not a 

whim with me. 
How is't with thee, Adessa, is't so with 
thee? 
Ades. And if it is, it is a whim to stay; 
For I bethink me I am here to stay. 
Alph. Dost thou not comfort find in thy 

new world ? 
Ades. Ay, should I nob with it about 

me furl'd? 
Alph. Then comfort never shall from 
thee depart, 
As long as strength remain or beats my 
heart. 
End. So two loves thus at last are now 
united ; 
God grant my love will likewise be re- 
quited. 
Alph. I would it were if woman feel 
like man, 
Methinks I'll burst so full of joy I am. 
Ades. Then pray release me; thou art 
yet too green 
To burst near me. If I'm to be thy queen, 
Let mellow age burst ope thy heart for 

joy, 

Rather than that of a flighty inconstant 

boy. 
A'ph. Now this to love is worst of 

all rebuff*. 
Worse, ay! indeed, than ruthless kicks 

and cuffs. 
Love's vanity sets well astride love's 

neok, 
That when 'tis wounded, love grows 

vainless, meek, 
And makes that man which boy pro- 
fessed to be, 
A boy which woman does not deign to 

see. 
Sebas. Rash fool, be thou content! 

Dost thou not know 
When thou hast gained a vict'ry o'er a 

foe? 
Know then that thou hast vanquished 

this fair one 
As sure as she hath thee thy woes begun. 
Enter RODERICK, reluctantly. 
Rod. Doth Roderick here intrude upon 

his friends ? 
If be let his withdrawal make amends. 
Sebas. Nay, come within, thy presence 

may amuse us, 



Since by thine absence thou dost so abuse 

us. 
Rod. 'Tis not, I know, objection to a 

clan 
That gives objection to a certain man, 
So much as 'tis objection to the one 
That proves bad scion of a household's 

son. 
I'm come, my friends, not Roderick of 

old, 
But Roderick the christian, strong and 

bold. 
If any ask: 'Is Roderick infidel ?' 
Say answer 'no!' and on the answer 

dwell 
Until the sound ta'en up by its echo, 
Might swell the heavens with its mighty 

flow. 
Let this be its purport, its loud refrain, 
That Roderick's christian turned ne'er to 

profane 
The name of God again whilst life doth 

last ; 
Thus doth he from his quondam self now 

cast. 
What is a man who in himself cloth claim 
The highest order of a being ? Fame 
And all her vast accoutrements attached 
Are naught compared with God whose 

might's unmatched. 
He who disclaims his God bis sire denies; 
For God is sire whence all life doth arise. 
So trace ancestry back to very first 
And you find God alone ere man's 

tongue curst, 
Or man's unhallowed presence brought 

disgrace 
Into the world through woman's tempt- 
ing grace. 
So friends, if you'll forgive a fool his fad, 
Tho fool, returning, will make friends 

right glad. 
Ant. O, this is Roderick, sweet as when 

a child: 
The other devil was, both rude and wild. 
Sebas. We greet thee, son, as mother, 

father dear: 
Thou hast in sooth made glad our hearts 

with cheer. 
Lub. And thou hast caused thy friends 

to honor thee, 
That may'st contend who'll greatest 

donor be. 
Theo. Let mo be first to grant thee my 

good-will, 
For cheating me my love of Humphrey's 

will. 
Alph. And me my master to assure 

with joy: 
Love is a sterner master, yet more coy. 
Ades. And me my master's master to 

forewarn ; 



Scene hi.] 



A (i EMI NY OF VIPERS. 



55 



Bewarfe thy lady who might thee yet 

scorn. 
AW. Why, this were like returning 

friends, indeed, 
But for one lacking which stands me in 

need. 
Look I which way I might I see a friend 
Who would, methinks, my purpose strong 

defend. 
There heart, art thou not yet content 

with this ? 
What is this something that my heart 

doth miss ? 
'Tis like surroundings of an infant's joy 
That doth, repleted, fret for some new 

toy. 
Eud. Let me be this and thou the in- 
fant be ; 
Take thou thy toy, do what you will with 

me. 
This is a moment I have worked and 

prayed for ; 
And now 'tis come, sweet issue of my 

labor ; 
A supplication heard and granted me, 
'Tis thus O God I give my thanks to I 

Thee; 
And thus, my king, my one love, and my 

hope, 
I give myself to thee no more to grope 
Beyond affection's glow. 

Rod. O sweet, sweet love ! 

How did I live so long without thy love ? 
Nay, heaven ne'er harbor'd angel half so 

pure 
As this that earth doth hold who must 

endure 
Earth's sufferings, disappointments, 

trials, woes, 
Which come as friends through worst of 

hateful foes. 
Canst thou, Eudora, loving, pardon too ? 
This, as thy love, I now most humbly sue ; 
For love were joyless which cannot for- 
give 
The faults of him for whom the love doth 

live. 
End. Roderick, I do pardon thee with 

all my heart, 
As I thee truly love with all my heart. 
Ay, pardon opes the way to greater love, 
Whilst love puts pardon in with gentle 

shove. 
So there they stand both pardon and 

affection, 
Neither the plainer to thy close inspec- 
tion. 
Rod. Methinks were mine eyes blind, 
I now could see 
How truly thou dost love and pardon me. 
Then what if I were blind, my sight were 
dead, 



Then love would grow by instinct's touch 

instead. 
The nestle of a hand arousing me 
To tender thoughts of sweetest ecstasy, 
Would love expand to burst a happy 

heart, 
Like buds of rare impatiens that impart 
Rich odors to the nostrils by a touch, 
My very blindness framing love to such 
A soft, deep, hallowed, gentle-natured 

thing, 
That now to see is but that love doth 

bring 
Unto my soul a thousand added pleasures ; 
More wealth to me than all great Lydia's 
treasures. 
End. But how fared you the night, me- 
thinks thy look, 
Though brighter now, speaks thus: 

'Sweet sleep forsook 
Mine eyes last night, and left me weary 
very.' 
Rod. Perchance the night was bad to 
make me merry, 
Which now I am upon this day of days; 
For one more soul hath turned from 

darksome ways, 
To greet requiting love whose light to 

me 
Is that of light from God that shines 

through thee, 
The radiating means of life and hope. 
So like thyself I will no longer grope 
Beyond affection's glow, but rather live 
For thee, with thee, in part, of thee to 

give 
Unto thy worthy life its just reward 
In gentle husband, I, thy chosen lord. 
Eud. This is in sooth a just reward to 
me, 
Possessing it, my heart from woe is free. 
Enter SALMON. 
Sal. Halloa! Halloa! Where's my mas- 
ter ? Ho! 
Theo. Here! Salmon! Here! 
Sal. Here where! Ho master, Ho! 

Your Salmon calls. 
Theo. Cease strumpeting thy wind! 

What is thy grief ? 
Sal. 'Tis that, my master, rescued from 

a thief. 
Theo. Then thou must needs be bound 
in iron chains, 
For rescuing such base dishonest gains. 
Sal. 'Twere well Sir Humphrey is not 
here to hear 
You threat one who brings news withal 
so dear. 
Theo. What has thy news to do with 

one now dead? 
Sal. What has a wife to do with hus- 
band's bed ? 



56 



A GEMINY OF VIPERH. 



[Act iv. 



Theo. Not duty dead to husband's wed- 

gain'd dues. 
Sal. Nor is Sir Humphrey dead to my 

gain'd news. 
Theo. Come come, thon prating fool, 

hast thou not learned 
Sir Humphrey is no more: nor yet dis- 
cerned 
As much by aspect of his dwelling-place, 
Which now stands mantled, draped from 

roof to base 
In token of his death ? 

Sal. What say you sir ? 

Doth know you on yourself a boon con- 
fer ? 
And is Sir Humphrey dead in truth or 

jest? 
If jest 'twere sad; if truth you're truly 

blest. 
Theo. Methinks all earth were blest in 

Humphrey's death. 
Sal. A"d hell, if dead, for he hath 

devil's breath; 
But you the most. Sir Humphrey that 

was poor, 
By sudden turn of fortune now is rich. 
All that vast moneys ventured forth in 

trade 
Some two years since hath now returned 

in full, 
Whose present gross sum stands equiva- 
lent 
To thrice that ventured. This in course 

of custom 
Must needs by Humphrey's death fall to 

next blood, 
Which you, my master, fortunate to be 
The honest nephew of dishonesty, 
Stand undisputed claimant to. 

Lub. How now, 

Most lucky man, thine uncle favors thee 
In dying at such opportune a time 
To thy advantage, else had his foul hand 
Not stabbed the life from out its tenancy 
Of clay, thou still wert destitute. 

Theo. There, there, 

Say rather 'twas not uncle but mere tide 
Of circumstance, unfashion'd, uncon- 

troll'd 
By man's hand, but by interposing hand 

of God. 
And so as God hath fashioned this to me, 
I in my turn will fashion it to others. 
No use have I of wealth more than I 

have, 
But that in false pursuit to pleasures buy, 
Which oft to swift damnation's doom 

doth lead. 
Therefore 'twere better not to grasp thus 

much 
Above that I am now possessor of. 



Methinks did not heart scorn, my hands 

would burn, 
Or hands not burn, my soul would rise 

abhorr'd 
From out so miserly a tenement, 
The home of lust and fleshly-crav'd de- 
sires, 
And I would soon be where Sir Hum- 
phrey is, 
Whose destiny for him himself did carve, 
Did I accept this wealth which I need not. 
Therefore I say I'll lay no claim to it, 
But in the cause of charity, bequeath 
Even here whilst I refuse it, half the 

which 
To Salmon my good servant for his need, 
The other to Alphonso and Adessa, 
To be by them disbursed in way they 

choose: 
The which by testament and seal of law, 
I'll straightway have confirm'd and sanc- 
tioned. 
Rod. Most noble man, most generous 

is thy heart. 
'Tis fit example for one that now doth 

start 
Upon the self-same way. I note the deed 
To stay me to my course, right's cause to 

feed. 
Sal. O master, rob you 'f your gain to 

furnish me? 
I cannot take what does not fall to me. 
Theo. But thou canst take what is as 

much thine own 
As mine, which though mine to disburse 

at will, 
Thine 'tis by right of gift from me to thee, 
Which is a greater than that which is 

mine, 
Since none did give me what I give to 

thee, 
I That's only mine by merest passing 

chance, 
Which if I took might vanish even so 
To leave me in worse plight than ere 

before. 
That ne'er possessed ne'er can be taken 

from, 
So now I give that ne'er to me did come. 
| Sal. I thank you, master, poor is such 

return ; 
Tears choke my speech, speech seems my 

mouth to* burn. 
Ades. What your man speaks, speaks 

thus my grateful heart. 
Alph. And mine, for it becomes Al- 

phonso's part. 
Theo. Then I'm repaid: meet me at 
eventide 
The deeds to sign, our actions coincide. 
Rod. Come sweet Eudora, say we wed 
to-day. 



gCENE III.] 



A GEMINY OF VIPERS. 



57 



Why' would'st thou wait? Is not thy 

heart as gay 
Now as 'twiil be upon the morrow ? 

Eud. Well, 

Let it be so, but hark thou to my warn- 
ing, 
There'll be no fawning, frowning, fret- 
ting, scorning. 
Rod. I warrant thee there'll not, else I 
love not, 
Which, God be sworn unto, I do, I do. 
Ades. O lady, mark my prophesy; 'tis 
as I said : 
Tnis very night you'll have your love to 
bed. 
Eud. And why not you have yours to 
bed as well, 
Thereby thy fortune also to foretell. 
Alph. Why, what a tongue I have to 
speak for me! 
Speak on, glib organ! Let thy speech 

win me 
That which this lolling luscious thing of 

mine 
Which I call tongue cannot speak words 
to win. 
Ades. 'Tis well for thee that others 
speak for thee, 
Else might have I refused to lie with 
thee. 
Alph Then thou consentest: let this 
be thy joy; 
I'll show thee I'm no flighty inconstant 
boy. 
Sdnu. Doth aught still lack, then take 
my blessings both, 



To stint the which I feel extremely loth. 
Then come, let's quick prepare the nup- 
tial feast 
To banquet love until the day hath 

ceas'd, 
That coming night may court us to our 

beds, 
Each bettered by the past night's goodly 
deeds. 
Rod. Soft, stay a moment! Where 

doth Orestes lie ? 
Sebas. Upon the spot where he did fall 
and die. 
'Twas his life's wish, being born, bred, 

mountaineer 
To be interred upon his mountains dear: 
So 'twas arranged according to his will; 
There he doth sleep death's sleep forever 
still. 
Rod. Poor perjur'd soul! How my 
heart bleeds for him! 
Well, well, 'tis past recall; but had I life 
To so infuse within his lifeless corse, 
Though it did take mine out of mine own 

self, 
Quick would I do it, dying, give him life, 
That he, respited, might redemption find, 
Which I do fear he died deprived of, 
And meets accorded punishment in hell. 
Therefore do I take it as precedent, 
To set my purpose to a higher hope, 
By which example I might bettered be 
To serve intent, and solve death's mys- 
tery. [ Exeunt. 






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